She had hidden under her pillow a hasty, much-blotted note to Aunt Callie, telling of her undertaking. Some one would find it when they made her bed, but not soon enough to stop Erica herself from boarding the _Spray_—that is, supposing she succeeded in prevailing upon Mrs. Haven to stand sponsor for her. It was only a five-minute walk from Cousin Kate’s to the big, red-brick house she remembered so vividly from last evening. Lights were burning brightly in all the front windows, upstairs and down, as Erica turned the corner, and a handsome carriage and pair stood before the door, already well laden with various sized and shaped bags and boxes. For a long moment Erica debated, standing irresolutely on the corner, whether to go up boldly, ring the bell and proffer her astounding request, or to wait until the lady came out on her way to the carriage. While she still argued with herself, Erica saw a portly coachman descend from the box and mount the house steps, probably for a final load of luggage. Opportunity beckoned, and without stopping to debate further, she impulsively answered the summons. Hurrying down the street, she cast one last frightened glance over her shoulder at the lighted house behind her, and, opening the carriage door with a quick jerk, popped into the darkness inside like a terrified rabbit scuttling into its burrow. The carriage was pretty well filled with bags, save for a corner of the back seat which had been left free for the traveler. But Erica was a slender girl, and she managed, by pulling and pushing the boxes a bit, to slip into a sort of niche on the floor between a huge dressing-case and what felt like a small-sized trunk standing on one end. For a few seconds after she had gained this temporary hiding-place Erica was quite unable to make out sounds around her because of the loud pounding of her own heart in her ears. But after a while this quieted down and she could hear two people coming down the stone steps of the house toward her. One of these must be the portly coachman, she decided, for she heard a man’s voice; then still another box or bag was piled up on the driver’s seat, and some one opened the carriage door and put a foot on the step. “Pretty crowded in here, Jeffreys,” Erica heard the rich, chuckly voice of Mrs. Haven remark, and a hand came into the darkness exploringly. “Want I should move them bags round a little, ma’am?” the man Jeffreys asked, and Erica’s heart fell to pounding again, lest his offer be accepted and her own inevitable discovery result. “No, never mind,” she heard the traveler say. “It’s not far to the wharf. I can squeeze in somewhere.”