and mutterings, not one word of which could her father
hear, the two raced up-stairs to the top of the house and the garret.

IV

Two hours later a group of young people led by Mark Dabney trooped out
of Kate's gate and turned down the Little Gray Lady's street. Most of
them wore long cloaks and were muffled in thick veils.

They were talking in low tones, glancing from side to side, as if
fearing to be seen. The moon had gone under a cloud, but the light of
the stars, aided by an isolated street lamp, showed them the way. So
careful were they to conceal their identity that the whole party--there
were six in all--would dart into an open gate, crouching behind the
snow-laden hedge to avoid even a single passer-by. Only once were they
in any danger, and that was when a sleigh gliding by stopped in front of
them, the driver calling out in a voice which sounded twice as loud
in the white stillness: "Where's Mr. Dabney's new house?" (evidently a
stranger, for the town pump was not better known). No one else stopped
them until they reached the Little Gray Lady's porch.

Kate crept up first, followed by Mark, and peered in. So far as she
could see everything was just as she had left it.

"The candle is still burning, Mark, and she's put more wood on the fire.
But I can't find her. Oh, yes--there she is--in her big chair--you
can just see the top of her head and her hand. Hush! don't one of you
breathe. Now, listen, girls! Mark and I will tiptoe in first--the front
door is never fastened--and if she is asleep--and I think she is--we
will all crouch down behind her until she wakes up."

"And another thing," whispered Mark from behind his hand--"everybody
must drop their coats and things in the hall, so we can surprise her all
at once."

The strange procession tiptoed in and arranged itself behind the Little
Gray Lady's chair. Kate was dressed in her mother's wedding-gown,
flaring poke bonnet, and long, faded gloves clear to her shoulder;
Mark had on a blue coat with brass buttons, a buff waistcoat, and black
stock, the two points of the high collar pinching his ruddy cheeks--the
same dress his father and Uncle Harry had worn, and all the young bloods
of their day, for that matter. The others were in their grandmother's
or grandfather's short and long clothes, Tom Fields sporting a
tight-sleeved, high-collared coat, silk-embroidered waistcoat, and
pumps.

Kate crept up behind her chair, but Mark moved to the firep