kly.

"Just a minute, Aunt Polly, I'm so tired. Please let me lie here on
the couch and rest for an hour and then I'll slip home."

"Let me put you to bed properly, child. You look suddenly beat flat.
That's the way with women. They get to thinking they've got wings when
they ain't, child, they ain't. You're making a terrible break in your
life, child. Terrible."

Mary-Clare was arranging the couch.

"Come, dear," she wheedled, "you tuck me up--so! I'll bank the fire
when I go and leave everything safe. A little rest and then
to-morrow!--well, you'll see that I have wings, Aunt Polly; they are
only tired now--for they are new wings! I know that it must seem all
madness, but it had to come."

Aunt Polly pulled the soft covering over the huddled form--only the
pale, wistful face was presently to be seen; the great, haunting eyes
made Aunt Polly catch her breath. She bent and kissed the forehead.

"Poor, reaching-out child!" she whispered.

"For something that is _there_, Aunt Polly."

"God knows!"

"Of course He does. That's why He gave us the--reach. Good-night. Oh!
how I love you, Aunt Polly. Good-night!"

It was Northrup's door that had slammed shut. Aunt Polly went above,
secured the innocent attic door, and then pattered down to her bedroom
near Peter's, feeling that her house, at least, was safe.

It was silent at last. Northrup, in his dark chamber, lay awake
and--ashamed, though heaven was his witness that his sin was not one
he had planned. Aunt Polly had been on his mind. He hated to have her
down there alone. Her sitting up for him had touched and--disturbed
him; he had left his door ajar.

"I'll listen for a few minutes and if she doesn't go to bed, I'll go
down and shake her," he concluded, and then promptly went to sleep and
was awakened by voices. Low, earnest voices, but he heard no words and
was sleepily confused. If he thought anything, he thought Peter had
been doing what was needed to be done--driving Polly to bed!

And then Northrup _did_ hear words. A word here; a word there. He
_knew_ things he had no right to know--he was awake at last,
conscientiously, as well as physically. He got up and slammed the
door!

But he could not go to sleep. He felt hot and cold; mean and
indignant--but above all else, tremendously excited. He lay still a
little longer and then opened his door in time to hear that
"good-night, good-night"; and presently Aunt Polly's raid on the
unoffending attic door