an-servant opened the door and looked at us as if weary and
surprised, and said nothing.

"Is Mrs. Reagan in?" I asked.

"She is."

That's all he said. He waited. I waited. Then I stepped forward.

"We will come in," I said. "And you go and tell her Mary Cary would like
to see her, having a message from Miss Jones." And he was so surprised
he moved aside, and in I walked.

I had heard so much about this house that I wasn't going to miss seeing
what was in it, if that fool man was rude; so while he was gone to get
Mrs. Reagan I counted everything in the front parlor as quick as I
could, and told Bertha to count everything in the back.

There were three sofas and two mirrors and nine chairs and six rugs and
six tables and two pianos, one little old-fashioned one and a big new
one; and three stools and seventeen candlesticks and four pedestals with
statuary on them, some broken, all naked; and seven palms and
twenty-three pictures and two lamps and five red-plush curtains, three
pairs over the lace ones and two at the doors; and as for ornaments, it
was a shop. And not one single book.

I am sure I got the things right, for I'd been practising remembering
at observation parties, in case I ever got a chance to see inside this
house; and I looked hard so I could tell the girls.

Poor Bertha was so frightened she didn't remember anything but the clock
and a china cat and an easel and picture, and before I could count Mrs.
Reagan came in.

She stopped in the doorway, and had we come from leper-land she couldn't
have held herself farther off.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked, and she tried the haughty
air--"What are you doing in here?"

"We were waiting for you," I said. "We have a message from Miss Jones."

"Well, another time don't wait in here, and don't come to the front door
if you have a message from Miss Jones or Miss Any-body-else. I don't
want any pickles this year. Had I wanted any I would have sent her word.
You understand? Don't ever come here again in this way!" And she waved
us out as if we were flies.

For a minute I looked at her as if she were a Mrs. Jorley's wax-works,
and then I made a bow like I make in charades.

"We understand," I said. "And we will not come again. We've heard a
good many people in Yorkburg have been once and no more." And I bowed
again and walked past her like she was a stage character, which she was,
being a pretence and nothing else.

Mad? I tell you, I was Ma