"Susette," remarked Carol solemnly, stopping stock still in the middle of the road, "you may call me all kinds of an idiot if you like, but I want to tell you one thing. I've been feeling lately that there's some mystery here, bigger than anything you or I imagine. It's just a feeling I have, but it haunts me continually. I'm _certain_ something is going to happen that will make us gasp with astonishment. And when that does happen, I want you to remind me of what I've said to-day. I'm sure I'm right. I feel it in my very bones, as Aunt Agatha often says." And Sue, much impressed, as solemnly promised to remind her. March 27. There's something that the Imp is up to,--something that she has discovered. I'm as certain of it as I am that my name is Susette Birdsey. The reason I know this is because of what happened to-day. Carol and I had gone down this afternoon to Anita Brown's to go over some English history with her for an exam we're going to have in a day or two. Anita is great on history, and somehow can make it seem so simple and sensible and easy to remember. I don't know how she does it, but we always like to study that subject with her and get her to explain all about the succession of kings and what relation they were to each other. She has the knack of making them seem like real people. Well, we had stopped at her house on the way from high school, so we hadn't been home this afternoon. About half-past four we left, and happened to come out of her gate just a little behind two people who were walking up the road. (Anita lives about half-way between our house and the village.) It didn't take us an instant to recognize those two people as Monsieur and the Imp. Carol was all for hurrying along to join them, but I said no, we might just as well keep to ourselves, for they probably didn't care for our company, anyway. So we kept on behind them, and they were talking so fast and hard that they didn't even notice us. Presently the Imp did a queer thing. She opened her school-bag, took out a book--it wasn't a school-book, either!--opened it at a certain page, and showed something to Monsieur. Whatever it was, it had the strangest effect on him. He gave one look at the page, then stopped stock still in the road and stared at the Imp, making a queer sound in his throat, as if he were trying to clear it and didn't succeed very well. Then he said something in French that we caught the sound of but couldn't understand. But the Imp was evidently so excited that she forgot to speak French, for we heard her say in English: "Then I'm right, Monsieur? It's the same? I was sure it was." And he answered: "_Oui, oui, petite mademoiselle!_" (I know enough French to translate this as "Yes, yes.")