A while passed that way and then I saw Ferguson going home, a long figure in white flannels striding across the lawn to the wood path. Then out from the kitchen come the servants, all togged up, six girls and Isaac, and away they go on their bikes to the beach. From what I’ve seen of the homes of the rich I’d rather be in the kitchen than the parlor—the help have it all over the quality for plain enjoyment. They went off bawling gayly, and presently Dixon appears, looking like a parson on his day off, all brisk and cheerful. Last of all comes Hannah, her hair as slick as a seal’s, a dinky little hat set on top of it, and a parasol held over it all. She waddled off, large and slow, in another direction, toward the woods—for a cup of tea and a neighborly gossip in Ferguson’s kitchen, I guess. How I wished I was along with them! There I was left, lolling back and forth on the sill, kicking with my toes on the floor, and wondering what my poor, deserted boy was doing in town. Then sudden, piercing the stillness with a sort of tingling thrill, comes the ring of the hall telephone. I gave a soft jump, snatched up my pad and pencil, and was at the table and had the receiver off before she’d got to the closet downstairs. It was so quiet, not a sound in the house, that I could hear every catch in her breath and every tone in her voice. And what I heard was worth listening to. A man spoke first: "Hello, who’s this?" "Esther Maitland. Is it—is it?" "Yes—C. P. I’ve waited until now as I knew there wouldn’t be anybody around. It’s all right." "Truly. You’re not saying it to keep me quiet?" "Not a bit. There’s no need for any worry. Everything’s gone without a hitch." "And you think it’s safe—to—to—take the next step?" "Perfectly. We’re going to get her out of town on Tuesday night." "Oh!" I could hear the relief in her voice. "You don’t know what this means to me?" He gave a little, dry laugh: "Me too—I’ll admit it’s been something of a strain. That’s all I wanted to say. Good-by." I scratched it on the pad, and tiptoed back to my room, short of breath a bit myself. What would Ferguson say to this? I stood by the window, thinking how to send it in, and things went right for out she came from the balcony and walked across to a place on the lawn where there were some chairs under a group of maples. She sat down and began to read, and I stole back to the hall and took a call for the Whitney house. Being Sunday they might be out, but that went right too, for I got the Chief himself. I told him and asked for instructions and they came straight and quick: