"It seems that she's discovered that the janitor here is the son of an old friend from North Carolina. Of course she's been talking to him a lot, and he has told her all about the whole neighborhood, and especially about the queer old house next door. He says it's known all around here as 'Benedict's Folly.'" "Why?" queried Janet. "Well, because years and years ago, when the owner built it (his name was Benedict), it was 'way out of the city limits, and everybody thought he was awfully foolish, going so far, and building a handsome city house off in the wilderness. But he wasn't so foolish after all, for the city came right up and surrounded him in the end, and the property is worth no end of money now. "But here's the queer thing about it. Old Mr. Benedict's been dead many years, and the place looks as if no one lived there--but _some one does_! It's a daughter of his, a queer little old lady, who keeps herself shut up there all the time; some think she's alone, others say no, that some one else is there with her. No one seems to know definitely. Anyhow, although she is very wealthy, she does all the work herself, and the marketing; and she even carries home all the things, and won't allow a single one of the tradesmen to come in. "Mr. Simmonds (that's our janitor) says that two years ago, in the winter, a water-pipe there burst, and Miss Benedict just _had_ to get a plumber; and he afterward told awfully peculiar things about the way the house looked,--the furniture all draped and covered up, and even the pictures on the walls covered, too,--and not a single modern improvement except the running water and some old-fashioned gas-fixtures. And the little old lady never raised her veil while he was there, so he couldn't see what she looked like. "Mr. Simmonds says every one thinks there is some great mystery about 'Benedict's Folly,' but no one seems to be able to guess what it can be. Now, Janet, isn't that just fascinating? Think of living next door to a mystery!" "It's simply thrilling!" sighed Janet. "But, Marcia, I still don't see what this has to do with a _secret_. Where do _you_ come in? I don't see why you couldn't have written all this to me." "Wait!" said Marcia. "I haven't finished yet. That was absolutely all I could get out of our maid Eliza, all she or any one else knew, in fact. But as you can imagine, I couldn't get the thing out of my mind, and I couldn't stop looking at the old place, either. I tried to talk to Aunt Minerva about it, but she wasn't a bit interested. Said she couldn't understand how any one could keep house in that slovenly fashion, and that's all she would say. So I gave up trying to interest _her_.