Blushing and laughing, she told Mr. Sanders about it afterward. That genial citizen regarded it as a good joke, and, as such, he made the most of it. She was walking about in the garden one day, thinking of childish things, and remembering what fine times she and Mr. Sanders had had when she was a tiny bit of a girl. She was very old now--quite seventeen--but her childhood was still fresh in her remembrance, and she was quite a child in her freshness and innocence. The corn-patch was in a new place now, but to her it was still the Whish-Whish Woods. In the days when she brought down the Boogerman with her cornstalk gun, the corn was growing in the garden next to a side street on which there was very little passing to and fro; but now the corn-patch was next to a thoroughfare that was much frequented. Remembering how delighted she had been when Randall, the Boogerman, responded so completely to her pretence of shooting him with her cornstalk gun, she was seized by a whim that gave her an almost uncontrollable desire to repeat the performance. By a gesture which, whether magical or not, admirably served its purpose, Adelaide became a child again. Her beautiful hair, unloosed, fell below her waist, and her face had the same little pucker of earnestness that it wore when, as a child, she was intent on her business of make-believe. She found a cornstalk that suited her purpose, stripped off the blades, and concealed herself in the Whish-Whish Woods, holding her gun in readiness to make a victim of the first person that passed along the street. As Providence would have it, she was not kept waiting, for almost before she could conceal herself, she heard the sound of feet. Whoever it was had no idea of the danger that awaited him, for he was walking along, whistling softly to himself, showing that he was either in high feather, or seriously uneasy with respect to certain plans he had in his head. As he came to the ambush, Adelaide promptly thrust her cornstalk gun forward, with a loud cry of "bang!" The result was as surprising as, and far more embarrassing than, when she made-believe to shoot Randall. This time the victim, instead of falling on the ground and writhing, as a man should do if he is seriously wounded, nearly jumped out of his skin, crying, "Good gracious!" The voice was strange to Adelaide's ears, and when she was in a position to see her intended victim, she discovered that her innocent joke had been played at the expense of a young man whom she had never seen before; he was an utter stranger. The young man, glancing back to see who had waylaid him, caught a glimpse of Adelaide, and politely raised his hat. Adelaide, frightened at what seemed to be her boldness, could hardly articulate clearly, but she managed to say, in the midst of her confusion and embarrassment, "Oh, excuse me! I thought--" but there she paused.