The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. Ah!" he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon a small knob in the wall, "there's the spring!" He touched it, and the door flew open. Since the discovery of them, she had been madly eager to read these typewritten tales. McClintock says they can't get in there, or at least they never try it. He seemed to be labouring under some great excitement. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. We close the chapter. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. A faint buzz above the ceiling witnessed that petrography, too, was active. "These writer chaps are queer birds. ’ Dieu du ciel, but she was a fool.
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