speak lightly, though her heart still
burned from Rita's insolent words. "Peggy, it is a dangerous thing to
try doors in a house like Fernley."

"Oh, I dare say it is only a linen closet," said Peggy. "I shouldn't
have cared, only it is provoking not to be able to see what is in there.
But this is the garret door, this way. I went up part way once, but it
seemed so big and spooky, I didn't want to go all the way alone."

It was a big place, indeed, this garret! The girls looked about them in
wonder, as soon as their eyes grew accustomed to the dim light that came
from the small gable windows. The corners were black and deep,--miles
deep, poor Peggy thought, as she peered into them. Old furniture lay
about, broken chairs and gouty-legged tables. In one corner a huge chest
of drawers loomed, with round, hunched shoulders, as if it were leaning
forward to watch them; in another--oh, mercy! what was that?

The three caught sight at once of an object so terrifying that Rita and
Peggy both shrieked aloud, and turned to flee; but Margaret held them
back.

"Girls," she said, and her voice trembled a little, whether from
laughter or fear; "wait! It--it can't be what it looks like, you know!
It must--" She advanced cautiously a few steps, and began to laugh. It
certainly had looked at first like the figure of a man hanging from the
rafters; it proved to be only an innocent suit of clothes, dangling its
legs in a helpless way, and holding out its arms stiffly, as if in
salutation.

Recovering from their fear, the girls advanced again, Peggy giggling
nervously. "I thought it was him!" she whispered.

"_He_, not _him_," was on Margaret's lips, but she kept the words back.
She could not always be a schoolmistress; and then she scorned herself
for moral cowardice.

"Thought it was who, Peggy?" she asked. "Hugo Montfort?"

"Ye--yes!" said Peggy.

"But he did not hang himself, child! He wants to find his papers, that
is all. Ah, here are the trunks; now for the wigs, girls!"

The wig trunk proved a most delightful repository. The wigs were in neat
boxes; many of them were of horsehair, but a few were of human hair,
frizzed and tortured out of all softness or beauty. Dainty Margaret did
not incline to put them on, but Peggy was soon glorious in a huge white
structure, with a wreath of roses on the top, that made her look twice
her height. "Ain't I fine?" she cried. "Here, Margaret, here is one for
you."

Margaret twirled th