and its queer haphazard lines, and
its deep windows, and its old pictures, and queer unexpected things that
take your breath away."

"It is one of the oldest houses in town," said Orde, "and I suppose it
is picturesque. But, you see, I was brought up here, so I'm used to it."

"Wait until you leave it," said she prophetically, "and live away from
it. Then all these things will come back to you to make your heart ache
for them."

They rambled about together, Orde's enthusiasm gradually kindling at the
flame of her own. He showed her the marvellous and painstaking pencil
sketch of Napoleon looking out over a maltese-cross sunset done by Aunt
Martha at the age of ten. It hung framed in the upper hall.

"It has always been there, ever since I can remember," said Orde, "and
it has seemed to belong there. I've never thought of it as good or bad,
just as belonging."

"I know," she nodded.

In this spirit also they viewed the plaster statue of Washington in the
lower hall, and the Roger's group in the parlour. The glass cabinet of
"curiosities" interested her greatly--the carved ivory chessmen, the
dried sea-weeds, the stone from Sugar Loaf Rock, the bit from the wreck
of the NORTH STAR, the gold and silver shells, the glittering geodes and
pyrites, the sandal-wood fan, and all the hundred and one knick-knacks
it was then the custom to collect under glass. They even ventured
part way up the creaky attic stairs, but it was too dark to enter that
mysterious region.

"I hear the drip of water," she whispered, her finger on her lips.

"It's the tank," said Orde.

"And has it a Dark Place behind it?" she begged.

"That's just what it has," said he.

"And--tell me--are there real hair trunks with brass knobs on 'em?"

"Yes, mother has two or three."

"O-o-h!" she breathed softly. "Don't tell me what's in them. I want to
believe in brocades and sashes. Do you know," she looked at him soberly,
"I never had any dark places behind the tank, nor mysterious trunks,
when I was a child."

"You might begin now," suggested Orde.

"Do you mean to insinuate I haven't grown up?" she mocked. "Thank you!
Look OUT!" she cried suddenly, "the Boojum will catch us," and picking
up her skirts she fairly flew down the narrow stairs. Orde could hear
the light swish of her draperies down the hall, and then the pat of her
feet on the stair carpet of the lower flight.

He followed rather dreamily. A glance into the sitting-room showed the