He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery. ’ ‘You would speak of the house?’ ‘Many’s the time little Miss Mary would say her papa meant for her to have it, she having no brothers and sisters at all—when we played together I mean, she and me and Joan Pottiswick. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored.
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