"You know, they say that no visitors are ever admitted, and no rings or knocks at the gate are ever answered. Well, something suddenly prompted me to ring that bell and see what would happen. I never stopped to ask myself what I should say if some one came and inquired what I wanted. I just rang it suddenly (and I had to pull hard, the old thing was so rusty) and far away somewhere in the house I heard a faint tinkle. "Then I got kind of panic-stricken, wondering what I'd say if any one did really come. But I needn't have worried, for what do you suppose happened?" "Nothing!" answered Janet, promptly. "That's just where you're mistaken; but you'd never guess what it was. About a minute after I'd rung the bell, I heard light footsteps on the walk behind the gate. _But_, instead of coming _toward_ the gate, they were hurrying _away_ from it; and in another minute I heard the front door close. After that it was all quiet, and nothing else happened. Then I went on home." "I know," interrupted Janet, whose quick mind had already worked out the problem, "exactly what occurred. It was Miss Benedict, who had been just about to come out on her way to do the marketing. And your ring frightened her, and sent her hurrying back into the house. _Isn't_ it all singular!" "Yes, that must have been it," agreed Marcia. "And it made me more curious than ever to understand about it. And I was so annoyed at myself for ringing at all. If I hadn't, I might have seen Miss Benedict close by, when she came out of the gate. It served me right for doing such a thing, anyhow! "But after that I got to watching, every time I went out, thinking I might see her on the street somewhere, especially if it was about the time she usually did her marketing--along toward dusk. Several days passed, however, and I never did. I _had_ thought of watching from my window to see when she went out, and then following her. But that didn't seem right, somehow. It would be too much like spying on her. So I just concluded I'd trust to chance. And luck favored me at last, one morning, about a week after I'd rung her bell. "It happened that the night before, Eliza suddenly discovered we were all out of oatmeal for breakfast, and I promised her I'd get some very early in the morning, when I went to take my walk. You know, I've found that on these warm summer days in the city it's much pleasanter to take a walk in the real early morning than to wait till later in the day, when it's crowded and hot. And I always used to love walking in the early morning, up in Northam.