be in one little strip of
woods, though it was dark and strange, and full of whispering noises?
Judith had clung to Willard's hand in terror, turning into the
cross-streets, and nothing came of it. She was not to be fooled any
longer. There was no danger.

Not that she wanted to be chased. She did not know what she wanted. But
she had come out into the dark to find something that was not there. She
had been happier on the doorsteps thinking about it. This, then, was
hanging May-baskets--all there was to it. But it was pleasant here in
the dark, pleasanter than walking through mud, and quarrelling. Now Rena
and Nat were quarrelling again.

"Get back there! Ed said not to move."

"They've been gone too long. Something's the matter."

"There they come. I hear them. Get back!"

They were coming, but something else was happening. Willard's three
whistles sounded, then Ed's voice, and a noise of scuffling on the
gravel--and a new boy's voice.

Rena and Natalie, upsetting their basket as they started, and not
noticing it, pushed through the trees and ran. Judith stood still and
listened. She did not know the voice. It was shrill and clear. She could
hear the words it said above the others' voices, all clamouring, now, at
once. She held her breath and listened. She could not move.

"I don't want your damn May-baskets."

"Liar! Get back of him, Rena. Come on, Nat."

"You'll get hurt. Let me go."

"Liar--Paddy!"

The magic word fell unheeded. The boy was laughing, and the laugh filled
her ears, a splendid laugh, fearless and clear.

"Paddy!"

"I don't want your damn May-baskets."

"Paddy--Paddy!"

This time there was no answer. Judith, tearing at the hooks of her cape,
and throwing it off as she ran, broke through the circling trees. Then
she stopped and looked.

Rena stood high on the carriage-house steps and held the lantern. It
wavered and swung in her hand, and threw a flickering circle of light
round the group by the steps.

The sprawled shadows at their feet seemed to have an undue number of
arms and legs, and the children were a struggling, uncertain mass of
motion, hard to make out, like the shadows, but they were only four:
Willard, grunting and groaning; Natalie attacking spasmodically in the
rear, and the strange little boy, the enemy. He was the heart of the
struggling group, and Judith looked only at him. She could do nothing
but look, for Judith had never seen a little boy like this.

They