in everlasting fire. Sheep were saved, goats were damned; and,
of course, the sheep must be deserving and clever if they had learned to
sing and play on harps.

Barrie thought she could have been no more than three when her father
died, but she never cared to question Grandma concerning the episode,
after a day when Mrs. MacDonald said in an icy voice, "Your mother was
before God guilty of your father's death." That was years ago now, but
Barrie had not forgotten the shock, or the hateful, thwarted feeling,
almost like suffocation, when Grandma had answered an outbreak of hers
with the words, "The less you know about your mother the better for you.
And the less like her you grow up, the more chance you will have of
escaping punishment in this world and the next."

Barrie believed that her mother's hair must have been red, for once she
had heard nurse say to Mrs. Muir, "No wonder the sight of the child's a
daily eyesore to the mistress; what with them identical dimples, and
hair of the selfsame shade, it must be a living reminder of what we'd
all be glad to forget." Barrie's hair was extremely red; and it had been
intimated to her that no red-haired girl could have cause for vanity,
because to such unfortunates beauty was denied; but loyalty to the
unknown mother forbade the child to hate her copper-coloured locks.

In a room decorated with pale blue satin, red hair might perhaps
simulate gold. The furniture was quite new-looking and unless there had
been some special reason, no mere change of taste would have induced
economical Grandma to make a clean sweep of these practically unused
things.

A tall mirror with its wooden back turned outward helped to screen the
furniture; and deep under the dusty surface of the glass Barrie saw her
own figure dimly reflected, like a form moving stealthily in water
beneath thin ice. It half frightened her, like seeing a spirit, and she
brought the gliding ghost to life by polishing the glass. This gave her
back suddenly the only friend she had, herself, and she was glad of the
companionship. Close to the huddled furniture stood a large trunk, a
Noah's Ark of a trunk. Perhaps it was old-fashioned, but compared to
other luggage stored here in the garret it was new and defiantly smart.
It had a rounded top, and was made of gray painted wood clamped with
iron.

Too good to be true that it should not be locked! And yes, locked it
was, of course. But tied to the iron handle on one end