people _do_ sometimes know what is going
to happen before it does. It seemed like that that night, for I had
never known Pierson quite so nice as she was then.

Late that evening--it seemed to me the middle of the night, but it
couldn't really have been more than nine or ten--I was half wakened up
by sounds in the day nursery next door. I heard one or two people
talking, and a low sound, as if some one were crying, but I was so
sleepy that I couldn't make up my mind to wake up to hear more, but for
long after that it seemed to me I heard moving about, and a sort of
bustle going on. Only it was all faint and confused-- I dreamt, or
thought I dreamt, that some one stood by the side of my bed crying, but
when I half opened my eyes, there was no one to be seen by the tiny
light of the little night lamp that mother always let us burn in our
room. By the next morning I had forgotten all I had heard, and very
likely if I had never had any explanation of it, it would not have come
into my mind again.

But the explanation came only too soon. We woke early that morning--we
generally did--but we were used to lie still till Pierson came to us.
But she had been so kind the night before that we felt bolder than
usual, and after having talked in a whisper to each other for some time,
and hearing no sound whatever from her room, we decided that she must
have overslept herself and that she would not be vexed if we woke her.
So "Pierson! Pierson!!" we called out, softly at first, then louder. But
there was no answer, so Tom, whose cot was nearest the door, jumped up
and ran to her room. In a moment he was back again--his face looking
quite queer.

"What is the matter, Tom?" I exclaimed.

"She's not there," he cried, "and she's not been there all night. Her
bed isn't unmade."

I sat up in alarm.

"Oh dear!" I said. "I do believe she's gone away, and that was the noise
I heard. Oh I do believe that horrid Mrs. Partridge has made Uncle send
her away."

But almost before the words were out of my mouth we heard some one
coming up-stairs.

"Quick, Tom," I said, and in his hurry Tom clambered into my bed, and I
hid him under the clothes.

Stump, stump-- I think I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Partridge was
rather lame from rheumatism, and sometimes used a stick--stump, stump,
in she came, feeling rather cross, no doubt, at having had to get up so
much earlier than usual.

"Good morning, my dears," she said.

"Good morning, Mrs.