iss
Stark," said she, "and see what the trouble is. There must be some
mistake." She spoke stiffly with constrained civility.

"Very well," said Miss Stark with dignity. Then she and Miss Sophia
went upstairs. Flora stood staring after them.

Sophia and Louisa Stark went up to the southwest chamber. The closet
door was shut. Sophia threw it open, then she looked at Miss Stark.
On the pegs hung the schoolteacher's own garments in ordinary array.

"I can't see that there is anything wrong," remarked Sophia grimly.

Miss Stark strove to speak but she could not. She sank down on the
nearest chair. She did not even attempt to defend herself. She saw
her own clothes in the closet. She knew there had been no time for any
human being to remove those which she thought she had seen and put hers
in their places. She knew it was impossible. Again the awful horror
of herself overwhelmed her.

"You must have been mistaken," she heard Sophia say.

She muttered something, she scarcely knew what. Sophia then went out
of the room. Presently she undressed and went to bed. In the morning
she did not go down to breakfast, and when Sophia came to inquire,
requested that the stage be ordered for the noon train. She said that
she was sorry, but was ill, and feared lest she might be worse, and she
felt that she must return home at once. She looked ill, and could not
take even the toast and tea which Sophia had prepared for her. Sophia
felt a certain pity for her, but it was largely mixed with indignation.
She felt that she knew the true reason for the school-teacher's illness
and sudden departure, and it incensed her.

"If folks are going to act like fools we shall never be able to keep
this house," she said to Amanda after Miss Stark had gone; and Amanda
knew what she meant.

Directly the widow, Mrs. Elvira Simmons, knew that the school-teacher
had gone and the southwest room was vacant, she begged to have it in
exchange for her own. Sophia hesitated a moment; she eyed the widow
sharply. There was something about the large, roseate face worn in
firm lines of humour and decision which reassured her.

"I have no objection, Mrs. Simmons," said she, "if--"

"If what?" asked the widow.

"If you have common sense enough not to keep fussing because the room
happens to be the one my aunt died in," said Sophia bluntly.

"Fiddlesticks!" said the widow, Mrs. Elvira Simmons.

That very afternoon she moved into the southwe