it that seemed decidedly queer."

"What's it like, anyway?" questioned Janet. "There were so many other things to see to-day that I didn't notice it at all. And it's so dark now I can't see a thing."

"Why, it's a big, square, four-story brick house, and it's terribly in need of paint. Looks as if it hadn't had a coat in years and years. It stands 'way back from the street, in a sort of ragged, weedy garden, and there's a high brick wall around the whole place, except for a heavy wooden gate at the front covered with ironwork. That gate is always closed. A stone walk runs from the gate to the front door. 'Way back at the rear of the garden is an old brick stable that looks as if it hadn't been opened or used in years.

"You'll see all this yourself, Janet, when you look out of the window in the morning. For this apartment-house runs along close to the brick wall, and as we're three floors up, you get a good view of the whole place. This window in my room is the very best place of all to see it—fortunately.

"But the queer thing about it is that, though the shutters are all tightly closed or bowed,—every one!—and the whole place looks deserted, it really isn't! There's some one living in it; and once in a long while you happen to see signs of it. For instance, that very afternoon I saw this: 'most all the shutters are tightly closed, but on the second floor they are usually just bowed. And that day the slats in one of them were open, and I thought I could see a muslin curtain flapping behind it. But while I was looking, the fingers of a hand suddenly appeared between the slats and snapped them shut with a jerk.

"Of course, there's nothing so awfully strange about a thing like that, as a rule, but somehow the way it was done seemed mysterious. I can't explain just why. Anyhow, as I hadn't anything else to do, I concluded I'd sit there for a while longer and see if something else would happen. But nothing did—not for nearly an hour; and I was getting tired of the thing and just going to get up and go away when—"

"What?" breathed Janet, in an excited whisper.

"The big front door opened (it was nearly dark by that time) and out crept the queerest little figure! It appeared to be a little old woman all dressed in dingy black clothes that looked as if they must have come out of the ark, they were so old-fashioned! Her hat was a queer little bonnet, with no trimming except a heavy black veil that came down over her face. She had a small market-basket on her arm, and a big old umbrella.

"But the queerest thing was the way she scuttled down the path to the gate, like a frightened rabbit, turning her head from side to side, as if she was afraid of being seen or watched. When she got to the gate, she had to put down her basket and umbrella and use both hands to unlock it with a huge key. When she got outside of it, on the street, she shut the gate behind her, and of course I couldn't see her any more.

"Well, it set me to wondering and wondering what the story of that queer old house and queer little old lady could be. It seemed as if there must be some story about it, or some explanation; for, you see, it's a big place, and evidently at one time must have been very handsome. And it stands right here in one of the busiest and most valuable parts of the city.

"The more I thought of it, the more curious I grew. But the worst of it was that I didn't know a soul who could tell me the least thing about it. Aunt Minerva couldn't, of course, and I wasn't acquainted with another person in the city. It just seemed as if I must find some explanation. Then, all of a sudden, I thought of our new colored maid. Perhaps she might have heard something about it. I made up my mind I'd go right out to the kitchen. So I went and started her talking about things in general and finally asked her if she knew anything about that old house. And then—I wish you could have heard her! I can't tell it all the way she did, but this is the substance of it:

"It seems that she's discovered that the janitor here is the son of an old friend from North Carolina. Of course she's been talking to him a lot, and he has told her all about the whole neighborhood, and especially about the queer old house next door. He says it's known all around here as 'Benedict's Folly.'"

"Why?" queried Janet.

"Well, because years and years ago, when the owner built it (his name was Benedict), it was 'way out of the city limits, and everybody thought he was awfully foolish, going so far, and building a handsome city house off in the wilderness. But he wasn't so foolish after all, for the city came right up and surrounded him in the end, and the property is worth no end of money now.

"But here's the queer thing about it. Old Mr. Benedict's been dead many years, and the place looks as if no one lived there—but some one does! It's a daughter of his, a queer little old lady, who keeps herself shut up there all the time; some think she's alone, others say no, that some one else is there with her. No one seems to know definitely. Anyhow, although she is very wealthy, she does all the work herself, and the marketing; and she even carries home all the things, and won't allow a single one of the tradesmen to come in.

"Mr. Simmonds (that's our janitor) says that two years ago, in the winter, a water-pipe there burst, and Miss Benedict just had to get a plumber; and he afterward told awfully peculiar things about the way the house looked,—the furniture all draped and covered up, and even the pictures on the walls covered, too,—and not a single modern improvement except the running water and some old-fashioned gas-fixtures. And the little old lady never raised her veil while he was there, so he couldn't see what she looked like.

"Mr. Simmonds says every one thinks there is some great mystery about 'Benedict's Folly,' but no one seems to be able to guess what it can be. Now, Janet, isn't that just fascinating? Think of living next door to a mystery!"

"It's simply thrilling!" sighed Janet. "But, Marcia, I still don't see what this has to do with a secret. Where do you come in? I don't see why you couldn't have written all this to me."

"Wait!" said Marcia. "I haven't finished yet. That was absolutely all I could get out of our maid Eliza, all she or any one else knew, in fact. But as you can imagine, I couldn't get the thing out of my mind, and I couldn't stop looking at the old place, either. I tried to talk to Aunt Minerva about it, but she wasn't a bit interested. Said she couldn't understand how any one could keep house in that slovenly fashion, and that's all she would say. So I gave up trying to interest her.

"Now, I must tell you the odd thing that happened that very night. You know I've said it was raining hard all that day, and by ten o'clock the wind was blowing a gale. I was just ready for bed, and had turned off my light and raised the shade, when I thought I'd take another peep at my mysterious mansion across the fence. All I could see, however, were just some streaks of light through the chinks in the shutters in that one room on the second floor. All the rest of the place was as dark as a pocket. And as I sat staring out, it suddenly came to me what fun it would be to try to unravel the whole mysterious affair all by myself. It would certainly help me to pass the dull days till you came!

"But then, too, the only way to do it would be to watch this old place like a cat, and I knew that wouldn't be right. It would be too