hour
or more, I daresay; then I determined I'd bother no more.

'Stop, Anne,' I said, in a low voice, 'I'm not going to----' but Anne
interrupted me.

'I hear something,' she said. 'Listen; what is it?'

There was a little sound of footsteps, but not inside the church, I
thought. Still it _might_ be Serry; she might have slipped out to baffle
us. But first I thought I'd try my new idea. I slipped out as near the
middle as I could, and then I said, loud and clear, though not shouting,
of course--do you know I felt quite frightened when I heard my own voice
so loud, it seemed so unreverent--

'Serena'--this was what I said--'you can hear me quite well, I know, so
I give you fair warning that if you don't come out before I finish
counting twelve we'll go home, and leave you to yourself--to stay here
all night if you choose.'

Then I began, 'One, two, three, four'--was it fancy, or did I hear a
little smothered laugh just as I was going to say 'five?'--but then all
was still again, and I went on, till, just as I was, you may say, on the
stroke of 'twelve,' there came a flutter and rush down the aisle, and
there was Miss Serry, tossing her hair back, her eyes looking, I am
sure, if there had been light enough to see them by, very bright green
indeed. But, just as she appeared, there came another sound--a harsh,
rasping, grating sound,--a queer feeling went through me as I heard it,
only I was so taken up with Serry that I didn't seem to have attention
to spare, and I didn't really take in for the moment what it meant.

There was Serry as triumphant as could be.

'I don't mind coming out now,' she said. 'I've proved that you couldn't
find me.'

'You have been about as naughty as you could be,' said Anne, 'and
whether Jack tells mother all about it or not, I know _I_ shall.'

Serena did not answer. She really seemed startled. It is not often that
Anne takes that tone. She used to be so constantly in scrapes
herself--about carelessness, and forgettings, and losings, and all that
sort of thing--that I think she felt as if she had no right to find
fault with others. But after a moment Serry got back her coolness.

'Well, anyway I've gained,' she said. 'You don't know where I was
hidden, and you'd never have found me.'

And to this day she has never told us!

'Let us get home now as fast as we can,' said Anne; 'there is poor
Maudie shivering with cold. I'm afraid she's got a chill.'

We turned towards the door, bu