So the days went by for two or three weeks. The girls caught, in all this time, not so much as one glimpse of Cecily, but they managed, thanks to their "line of communication," to keep constantly in touch with her. Meantime, the summer weather waxed hotter and hotter, and the city fairly steamed under the July sun. Their own time was taken up by many diversions: trips to the parks, beaches, and zoo; excursions out of town with Aunt Minerva; shopping, and quiet sewing or reading in their pleasant living-room. Every time they went out of their home on a pleasure-jaunt, they felt guilty, to think of the lonely little prisoner cooped up in the dreary house next door, and both declared they would gladly give up their places to her, had such a thing been possible. Then, one night, something unusual occurred. They had sent down the usual note, and also a little work-basket of Indian-woven sweet-grass, the souvenir of a recent trip to the seaside. To their astonishment, when they drew up the string, both note and basket were still attached. This was the first time such a thing had happened. "What _can_ be the matter?" queried Marcia. "Can it be possible that Cecily feels she mustn't do this any more?" "_I_ didn't hear any footsteps down there to-night, did you?" said Janet. "No, come to think of it, I didn't. She must have stayed indoors for the first time since we began this. But what do you suppose is the reason?" Janet suddenly clutched her friend. "Marcia, can it be possible that Miss Benedict has discovered what we've been doing, and won't let her come out any more?" "I believe that's it!" Marcia's voice was sharp with consternation. "Wouldn't it be dreadful, if it's so?" They sat gloomily thinking it over. "Well, what are we going to do about it?" demanded Marcia. "Wait till to-morrow night and try again," counseled Janet. "It's just possible Cecily had a headache or felt sick from this abominable heat and couldn't come down. Let's see what happens to-morrow." The next night they tied the basket and another note to the string and dropped it down hopefully. But they drew it up untouched, precisely the same as before. "It's just one of two things," decided Marcia. "Either Cecily is ill or Miss Benedict has found out about our little plan and forbidden Cecily to go on with it. What are we to do? Keep on sending notes, or stop it? Suppose Miss Benedict herself should find one sometime." "I don't care!" cried Janet, decisively. "If Cecily is ill, she'll get better pretty soon and come out some night, and there'll be nothing for her. She'd be dreadfully disappointed. I don't care if there _is_ the possibility that Miss Benedict knows all about it. I'm going to keep right on writing and take the chance!"