"But the queer thing about it is that, though the shutters are all tightly closed or bowed,--every one!--and the whole place looks deserted, it really _isn't_! There's some one living in it; and once in a long while you happen to see signs of it. For instance, that very afternoon I saw this: 'most all the shutters are tightly closed, but on the second floor they are usually just bowed. And that day the slats in one of them were open, and I thought I could see a muslin curtain flapping behind it. But while I was looking, the fingers of a hand suddenly appeared between the slats and snapped them shut with a jerk. "Of course, there's nothing so awfully strange about a thing like that, _as a rule_, but somehow the way it was done seemed _mysterious_. I can't explain just why. Anyhow, as I hadn't anything else to do, I concluded I'd sit there for a while longer and see if something else would happen. But nothing did--not for nearly an hour; and I was getting tired of the thing and just going to get up and go away _when_--" "_What?_" breathed Janet, in an excited whisper. "The big front door opened (it was nearly dark by that time) and out crept the queerest little figure! It appeared to be a little old woman all dressed in dingy black clothes that looked as if they must have come out of the ark, they were so old-fashioned! Her hat was a queer little bonnet, with no trimming except a heavy black veil that came down over her face. She had a small market-basket on her arm, and a big old umbrella. "But the queerest thing was the way she scuttled down the path to the gate, like a frightened rabbit, turning her head from side to side, as if she was afraid of being seen or watched. When she got to the gate, she had to put down her basket and umbrella and use both hands to unlock it with a huge key. When she got outside of it, on the street, she shut the gate behind her, and of course I couldn't see her any more. "Well, it set me to wondering and wondering what the story of that queer old house and queer little old lady could be. It seemed as if there _must_ be some story about it, or some explanation; for, you see, it's a big place, and evidently at one time must have been very handsome. And it stands right here in one of the busiest and most valuable parts of the city. "The more I thought of it, the more curious I grew. But the worst of it was that I didn't know a soul who could tell me the least thing about it. Aunt Minerva couldn't, of course, and I wasn't acquainted with another person in the city. It just seemed as if I _must_ find some explanation. Then, all of a sudden, I thought of our new colored maid. Perhaps she might have heard something about it. I made up my mind I'd go right out to the kitchen. So I went and started her talking about things in general and finally asked her if she knew anything about that old house. And _then_--I wish you could have heard her! I can't tell it all the way she did, but this is the substance of it: