ell you?"

Jean nodded, still gasping, and clung to Peggy with eager, trembling
hands. "Oh!" she moaned. "Peggy, save me! take me away! the closet; oh,
the closet!"

"What closet, dear? This one? Why, this is the broom closet. There is
nothing here to frighten you, Jean."

"The woman!" murmured Jean. "The dreadful dead woman! Peggy, I saw her
eyes, and her long hair. Oh, I shall die, I know I shall!"

"Oh, you poor lamb!" cried Margaret, laughing in spite of her
compassion. She hurried to the closet and flung the door wide open. "It
is only Mrs. Body!" she said. "Come and look again, Jean; it is the
lay-figure, dear, nothing else in the world."

"Lay figure?" faltered Jean, still trembling and hanging back.

"Yes, the model. Grandmother Montfort used to paint a great deal, and
she had this creature made to stand for the figure. Come and look at it,
dear child."

Gently and persuasively she drew the trembling girl forward; the others
all pressed behind her.

There on the floor of the closet lay a figure which might at the first
glance have alarmed a stouter heart than fifteen-year-old Jean's,--the
figure of a woman, scantily draped in white. The arms were stretched out
stiffly, the face, with its staring eyeballs, over which fell some lank
wisps of hair, was turned toward the door. No wonder Jean was terrified.

"I am so sorry!" said Margaret. "The children, Basil and Susan D., found
her in the garret last winter. They begged to be allowed to have her for
a plaything, so they kept her in here, and had great fun with her. Her
name is Mrs. Body, but she can take any part, from Ophelia to Simple
Susan. She took tea with us once, when Uncle John was away, and she
behaved beautifully; so you see you really must not mind her, Jean,
dear."

"It's no wonder she was frightened, though," said Gerald. "My right arm
cleaves to the roof of my mouth, even now that I know who she is. Mrs.
Body, my respects to you, ma'am, and I desire you of less acquaintance."

While they were all laughing over Mrs. Body, and commenting upon her
various points, Gerald slipped round to Margaret's side.

"Miss Montfort," he said, speaking in a low tone, "do you remember the
roarer?"

"Indeed I do, Mr. Merryweather. Do you know, you never showed me the
place. You had to go away the next day, you remember."

"That is just what I was thinking," said Gerald. "I have never forgotten
that burning moment when Mrs. Cook and I foregathered in the