much like spying into your neighbor's affairs, and, of course, that's horrid. Finally, I concluded, that if I could do it without being meddlesome or prying, I'd just watch the place a little and see if anything interesting would happen. And while I was thinking this, a strange thing did happen—that very minute!

"The wind had grown terrific, and, all of a sudden, it just took one of the shutters of that lighted room, and ripped it from its fastening, and threw it back against the wall. And the next moment a figure hurried to the window, leaned out, and drew the shutter back in place again. But just for one instant I had caught a glimpse of the whole inside of the room! And what do you suppose I saw, Jan?"

"What?" demanded Janet.

"Well, not much of the furnishing, except a lighted oil-lamp on a table. But, directly in the center of the room, in a perfectly enormous armchair sat—a woman! And it wasn't the one I'd seen in the afternoon, either. I'm sure of that. I couldn't see her face, for it was in shadow, but she was looking down at something spread out on her lap. And she held her right hand over it in the air and waved it back and forth, sort of uncertainly. You can't imagine what a strange picture it was—and then the shutter was closed. There was something so weird about it all.

"If I was curious before, I was simply wild with interest then. It seemed as if I must know what it all meant—what that strange old lady could be doing, sitting there in state in the middle of the room, and all the rest of it. You don't blame me, do you, Jan?"

"Indeed I don't! I'd be ten times worse, I guess. But what about the secret? And did you find out anything else?"

"Yes, I did. And that's the secret. The whole mysterious thing is in the secret, because no one but you knows I'm the least interested in the affair, and I don't want them to—now! I'll tell you what happened next."

But just at this moment they were interrupted by a knock at the door, and a voice inquiring:

"Girls, girls! haven't you gone to bed yet? I've heard you talking for the last hour."

"No, Aunt Minerva!" answered Marcia, "we are sitting by the window."

"Well, you must go to bed at once! It's nearly midnight. You won't either of you be fit for a thing to-morrow. Now, mind, not another word! Good-night!"

"Good-night!" they both answered, but heaved a sigh when Aunt Minerva was out of hearing.

"It's no use!" whispered Marcia. "We'll have to stop for to-night. But there's lots more, and the most interesting part of it, too. Well, never mind, I'll tell you all the rest to-morrow!"

CHAPTER II

THE FACE BEHIND THE SHUTTER

Janet had no sooner hopped out of bed next morning than she flew to the window to examine "Benedict's Folly" by broad daylight. In the streaming sun of a June morning the dingy old mansion certainly bore out the truth of Marcia's mysterious description.

"Gracious! I should think you would have been interested in it from the first!" she exclaimed.

"Interested in what?" yawned Marcia, sleepily, opening her eyes.

"'Benedict's Folly,' of course! Let's see," went on Janet, who possessed a very practical, orderly mind; "from your story last night it seems there must be two people living there—but look here! how did you know, Marcia, that it was another old lady you saw that night when the shutter blew open?"

"Why, for several reasons," answered Marcia. "In the first place, the one who goes out is short and slight. The one sitting in the chair was evidently large, and rather stout, and—and different, somehow, although I didn't see either of their faces. And then, it wasn't the lady in the chair who closed the shutter. She evidently never moved. So it must have been some one else."

"Yes, it must have been," agreed Janet, convinced. "Queer that nobody seems to know about the second one. I wonder who she is? And are there any more? Go on with your story, Marcia."

"No," said Marcia. "Wait till we can be by ourselves for a long while. I don't want to be interrupted. Aunt Minerva's going out this morning, and then we'll have a chance."

So, later in the morning, the two girls sat by Marcia's window, each occupied with a dainty bit of embroidery, and Marcia began anew:

"Well, after that rainy night, for several days I didn't see a thing more that was interesting about the old house or the queer people who live in it. I used to watch once in a while to see if the little lady in black would go out again in the afternoon, as she did before, but she didn't. Then, a day or two later, I did something that surprised even myself, for I hadn't the faintest intention of doing it. I had been taking a walk that afternoon and was just coming home, passing on the way the high brick wall of the Benedict house. It was just as I reached the closed gate that an idea popped into my head.

"You know, they say that no visitors are ever admitted, and no rings or knocks at the gate are ever answered. Well, something suddenly prompted me to ring that bell and see what would happen. I never stopped to ask myself what I should say if some one came and inquired what I wanted. I just rang it suddenly (and I had to pull hard, the old thing was so rusty) and far away somewhere in the house I heard a faint tinkle.

"Then I got kind of panic-stricken, wondering what I'd say if any one did really come. But I needn't have worried, for what do you suppose happened?"

"Nothing!" answered Janet, promptly.

"That's just where you're mistaken; but you'd never guess what it was. About a minute after I'd rung the bell, I heard light footsteps on the walk behind the gate. But, instead of coming toward the gate, they were hurrying away from it; and in another minute I heard the front door close. After that it was all quiet, and nothing else happened. Then I went on home."

"I know," interrupted Janet, whose quick mind had already worked out the problem, "exactly what occurred. It was Miss Benedict, who had been just about to come out on her way to do the marketing. And your ring frightened her, and sent her hurrying back into the house. Isn't it all singular!"

"Yes, that must have been it," agreed Marcia. "And it made me more curious than ever to understand about it. And I was so annoyed at myself for ringing at all. If I hadn't, I might have seen Miss Benedict close by, when she came out of the gate. It served me right for doing such a thing, anyhow!

"But after that I got to watching, every time I went out, thinking I might see her on the street somewhere, especially if it was about the time she usually did her marketing—along toward dusk. Several days passed, however, and I never did. I had thought of watching from my window to see when she went out, and then following her. But that didn't seem right, somehow. It would be too much like spying on her. So I just concluded I'd trust to chance. And luck favored me at last, one morning, about a week after I'd rung her bell.

"It happened that the night before, Eliza suddenly discovered we were all out of oatmeal for breakfast, and I promised her I'd get some very early in the morning, when I went to take my walk. You know, I've found that on these warm summer days in the city it's much pleasanter to take a walk in the real early morning than to wait till