r inhabitants were not at home.

Mrs. Muir's motive for visiting the garret out of season was a simple
one, but it was well that Barrie did not know this, for it was not at
all interesting, and would have broken the music, thrown cold water on
the thrill. Moths, no respecters of persons or judges of high religious
reputations, had dared to nest in Mrs. MacDonald's best black cashmere
dress, which had not been worn and would not be worn, except on great
occasions, until next season, and had mechanically reduced it to the
rate of second best. Moth-powder and moth-balls were exhausted in
downstairs regions, but there was a store of both in the garret; and in
her annoyance at having to ascend at an unprecedented time, and her
vexation at an accident such as must happen in the best regulated
families, Mrs. Muir had hurriedly returned with the wanted box,
forgetting to lock the door.

Barrie could not be sure that the housekeeper was not even now in the
garret; but she had to find out: and the awful thrill of uncertainty
made her next step a high adventure, the adventure of her life. It was a
step onto the garret stairs, and though it meant dangers of all sorts,
she risked them every one, and closed the door behind her. You see, if
she had not done this, any person passing along the landing--a person
such as Grandma, or Janet Hepburn--would at once have seen the streak of
gold, a mere yellow crack to them, and then and there would have arisen
a clamour for the key.

Even with the door closed the risk remained in a lesser degree. Mrs.
Muir, if she were not at this moment in the garret, might suddenly
remember that she had left the door ajar, taking away the key; then she
would rush back like a stout round whirlwind, and in a minute more
Barrie would be a prisoner, almost like the fair bride in "The Mistletoe
Bough," only there was more air in the garret than in the oak chest that
shut with a spring. But Barrie was used to taking risks--risks
insignificant compared with this, yet big enough to supply salt and
sugar for the dry daily bread of existence.

The door shut softly, but--mercy, what creaks those steps had in them!
They seemed to be vying with each other, the heartless brutes, as to
which could shriek the loudest under a girl's light foot. Probably they
had never seen a girl before, or if they had, it was so long ago they
had forgotten. Fancy Grandma a girl! No wonder, if the steps remembered
her, that they yelled--