utomobile, the scream of a tug; and lesser sounds--feet upon the
sidewalk under the window, low laughter from the dim, tree-shaded walk.

She wondered about her father.

Suddenly there rose to her window a long-drawn cry. She recognized
it--the high-keyed, monotonous cry of a man who often hurried past with
a bundle of newspapers under his arm. Now it startled her. It filled her
with foreboding.

"Uxtra! Uxtra! A-a-all about the lubble-lubble-lubble in ump Street!"

Street! _What_ street? Gwendolyn strained her ears to catch the words.
What if it were the street where her fath--

"Uxtra! Uxtra!" cried the voice again. It was nearer, yet the words were
no clearer. "A-a-all about the lubble-lubble-lubble in ump Street!"

He passed. His cry died in the distance. Gwendolyn let the window-shade
go back into place very gently. To prepare properly for her trip
downstairs meant running the risk of discovery. She tiptoed noiselessly
to the school-room door. There she listened. Thomas's deep voice was
still rumbling on. Punctuating it regularly was a sniffle. And the
key-hole showed a spot of glinting red--Jane's hair.

Gwendolyn left the school-room door for the one opening on the hall.

In the hall were shaded lights. Light streamed up the bronze shaft.
Gwendolyn put her face against the scrolls and peered down. The cage was
far below. And all was still.

The stairs wound their carpeted length before her. She slipped from one
step to another warily, one hand on the polished banisters to steady
herself, the other carrying her slippers. At the next floor she stopped
before crossing the hall--to peer back over a shoulder, to peer ahead
down the second flight.

Outside the high carved door of the library she stopped and put on the
slippers. And she could not forbear wishing that she knew which was
really her best foot, so that she might put it forward. But there was no
time for conjectures. She bore down with both hands on the huge knob,
and pressed her light weight against the panels. The heavy door swung
open. She stole in.

The library had three windows that looked upon the side street. These
windows were all set together, the middle one being built out farther
than the other two, so as to form an embrasure. Over against these
windows, in the shallow bow they formed, was a desk, of dark wood, and
glass-topped. It was scattered with papers and books. Before it sat her
father.

The moment her eyes fell upon him she r