o
the child's eyes for a moment; but before Margaret's kind, firm, loving
gaze it vanished and was gone. A wave of colour swept over her face; her
eyes wavered, gave one imploring glance, and fell.

"Aren't you going to tell me, Susan D.?" asked Margaret once more.

"N--no!" said Susan D., in a whisper scarcely audible.

"No? And why not, dear child?"

"I promised!" whispered Susan D.

"Susan D., do you know anything about that strange noise that frightened
us so last night?"

But not another word would Susan D. say. She looked loving, imploring,
deprecating; she threw her arms around Margaret's neck, and hid her face
and clung to her; but no word could she be brought to say. At last
Margaret, displeased and puzzled, felt constrained to tell the child
rather sternly to fold her work and go away, and not come back to her
till she could answer questions properly. Susan went obediently; at the
door she hesitated, and Margaret heard a little sigh, which made her
heart go out in sympathy toward the little creature. Instantly she rose,
and, going to the child, put her arms round her affectionately.

"Darling, I think you are puzzled about something," she said, quickly.
Susan D. nodded, and clung close to her cousin's side.

"I will not ask you anything more," said Margaret. "I am going to trust
you, Susan D., not to do anything wrong. Remember, dear, that the two
most important things in the world are truth and kindness. Now kiss me,
dear, and go."

Left alone, Margaret sat for some time, puzzling over what had happened,
and wondering what would happen next. It was evident that the children
were concerned in some way, or at least had some knowledge, of the
mysterious sounds which had so alarmed Miss Sophronia. What ought she to
do? How far must she try to force confession from them, if it were her
duty to try; and how could she do it?

Thus pondering, she became aware of voices in the air; she sat near the
open window, and the voices were from above her. The nursery window! She
listened, bending nearer, and holding her breath.

"Well, if you back out now, Susan D., it will be mean!" Basil was
saying. "What did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything!" Susan D. answered, sullenly.

"Why didn't you tell her that we had a pain, and didn't want to bother
her, 'cause she had company?" cried Merton, eagerly. "I had that all
fixed to tell her, only she never asked me."

"I wouldn't tell her a lie," said Susan D. "B