“Not many,” responded Miranda importantly, “but my cousin Hannah Heath has. You know she’s ben up there for a spell visitin’ an’ they say there was lots of gentlemen in love with her. There’s one in particular used to come round a good deal. It might be him come round to see ef it’s true Hannah’s goin’ to get married to Lem Skinner. Know what this fellow’s name is?” “You don’t say! Well now it might be. No, I don’t rightly remember his name. Seems though it was something like Church er Chapel. ’Melia could tell ye, but she’s busy.” “Where’s he at? Mebbe I could get a glimpse o’ him. I’d jest like to know ef he was comin’ to bother our Hannah.” “Well now. Mebbe you could get a sight o’ him. There’s a cupboard between his room an’ the room back. It has a door both sides. Mebbe ef you was to slip in there you might see him through the latch hole. I ain’t usin’ that back room fer anythin’ but a store-room this spring, so look out you don’t stumble over nothin’ when you go in fer it’s dark as a pocket. You go right ’long in. I reckon you’ll find the way. Yes, it’s on the right hand side o’ the hall. I’ve got to set here an’ finish these potatoes er dinner’ll be late. I’d like to know real well ef he’s one o’ Hannah Heath’s beaux.” Miranda needed no second bidding. She slipped through the hall and store room, and in a moment stood before the door of the closet. Softly she opened it, and stepped in, lifting her feet cautiously, for the closet floor seemed full of old boots and shoes. It was dark in there, very dark, and only one slat of light stabbed the blackness coming through the irregular shape of the latch hole. She could hear voices in low tones speaking on the other side of the door. Gradually her eyes grew accustomed to the light and one by one objects came out of the shadows and looked at her. A white pitcher with a broken nose, a row of bottles, a bunch of seed corn with the husks braided together and hung on a nail, an old coat on another nail. Down on her knees beside the crack of light went Miranda. First her eye and then her ear were applied to the small aperture. She could see nothing but a table directly in front of the door about a foot away on which were quills, paper, and a large horn inkstand filled with ink. Some one evidently had been writing, for a page was half done, and the pen was laid down beside a word. The limits of the latch hole made it impossible for Miranda to make out any more. She applied her ear and could hear a man’s voice talking in low insinuating tones, but she could make little of what was said. It drove her fairly frantic to think that she was losing time. Miranda had no mind to be balked in her purpose. She meant to find out who was in that room and what was going on. She felt a righteous interest in it.