e careful of the steps. I'm always afraid you'll fall down when
you go up there, the steps are so narrow."

"Ach, I won't fall. I'll be careful. I'll play a while and then shall I
help to quilt?" she offered magnanimously in return for the privilege of
playing in the garret.

"No, I don't need you. But you can quilt nice, too. The last time you
took littler stitches than Lizzie from the Home, but she don't see so
good. But you needn't help to-day, for so many can't get round the frame
good. Phares's mom and David's mom and Lyddy and Granny Hogendobler and
Susan are comin', and that's enough for one quilt. You go play."

In a moment Phoebe was off, up the broad stairs to the second floor.
There she paused for breath--"Oh, it's like going to a castle somewhere
in a strange country, goin' to the garret! I'm always a little scared at
first, goin' to the garret."

With a laugh she turned into a small room, opened a latched door, closed
it securely behind her, and stood upon the lower step of the attic
stairs. She looked about a moment. Above her were the stained rafters of
the attic, where a dim light invested it with a strange, half fearful
interest.

"Ach, now, don't be a baby," she admonished herself. "Go right up the
stairs. You're a queen--no, I know!--You're a primer donner going up the
platform steps to sing!"

With that helpful delusion she started bravely up the stairs and never
paused until she reached the top step. She ran to a small window and
threw it wide open so that the October sunshine could stream in and make
the place less ghostly.

"Now it's fine up here," she cried. "And I dare--I may--talk to myself
all I want. Aunt Maria says it's simple to talk to yourself, but
goodness, when abody has no other boys or girls to talk to half the time
like I don't, what else can abody do but talk to your own self? Anyhow,
I'm up here now and dare talk out loud all I want. I'll hunt first for
robbers."

She ran about the big attic, peered behind every old trunk and box, even
inside an old yellow cupboard, though she knew it was filled with old
school-books and older hymn-books.

"Not a robber here, less he's back under the eaves."

She crept into the low nook under the slanting roof but found nothing
more exciting than a spider. "Huh, it's no fun hunting for robbers.
Guess I'll spin a while."

With quick variability she drew a low stool near an old spinning-wheel,
placed her foot on the slender treadle and