"He went yesterday morning, sir. I expected a letter from him to-day; and it is very curious that none have come. Davy knew how anxious I was about mother; and he never fails to write when he's away from me. Somehow, all things are going crooked and cross just now. I had a fright the night before last. Master Johnny, and I am hardly quit of it yet." "What was that?" I asked her. She stared into the fire for a minute or two before she answered me. There was no other light in the room; I sat back against the wall beside the window--the shutters were still open. "You might not care to hear it, sir." "I should if it's worth telling." Turning from the fire, she looked straight at me while she told it from beginning to end, exactly as I have written it above. The tale would have been just the thing for Mrs. Todhetley: who went in for marvels. "Hill stood to it that it was a dream, Master Johnny; but the more I think of it, the less I believe it could have been one. If I had only heard the call in my sleep, or in the moment of waking, why of course it might have been a dream; but when I heard it the second time it was _after_ I awoke. I heard it as plain as I hear my own voice now; and plainer, too." "But what else, except a dream, do you fancy it could have been?" "Well, sir, that's what is puzzling me. But for Hill's convincing me Davy could not have got out of here after he had locked him and Macintosh in for safety, I should have said it was the boy himself, calling me from outside. It sounded in the room, close to me: but the fright I was in might have deceived me. What's that?" A loud rapping at the window. I am not ashamed to say that coming so unexpectedly it startled me. Mrs. Hill, with a shrill scream, darted forward to catch hold of my arm. "Let me go. Some one wants to be let in. I dare say it's Hill." "Master Johnny, I beg your pardon," she said, going back. "Hill ought to know better than to come frightening me at night like this." I opened the door, and Miss Timmens walked in: not Hill. The knocking had not been intended to frighten any one, but as a greeting to Mrs. Hill--Miss Timmens having seen her through the glass. "You know you always were one of the quaking ones, Nanny," she said, scoffing at the alarm. "I have just got back from Worcester, and thought you'd like to hear that mother's better." "And it is well you are back, Miss Timmens," I put in. "The school has been in rebellion. Strangers, going by, have taken it for a bear garden." "That Maria Lease is just good for nothing," said Miss Timmens, wrathfully. "When she offered to take my place I knew she'd not be of much use. Yes, sir; it was the thought of the school that brought me back so soon." "And mother is really better!" cried Mrs. Hill. "I am so thankful. If she had died and I not able to get over to her, I should never have forgiven myself. How is David?"