“I’ll tell you--one must have been the key to the shop!” cried Miss Penny. “You see there was a shop with the old house that was torn down--nearly every house had them once. This one is a tidy little place, or was. Reuben’s father used to work there a great deal--I don’t know whether it was over his music--of course there was no instrument, but when you think of Wagner--or whoever it was that couldn’t hear a sound--though I am not sure that his wife--Reuben’s mother--didn’t have an old melodeon besides the organ they had in the cottage--not the pipe organ. They never got that. But he made things, too. He made tables and chairs and--what-nots, I rather think--though he hadn’t a great deal of time for he worked over to Wenham besides playing the church organ. Such hands as that man had--and Reuben’s are just like them.” “Dear me, I shouldn’t have said there was a separate building on the place,” remarked Mrs. Lorraine, “should you, Alice?” “No mother, I shouldn’t have,” said the girl. “There’s such a tangle of brush and I believe the land drops just there, which I suppose helps hide it,” Mrs. Lorraine went on. “I’d rather like to see that shop. I believe I’ll go down some afternoon and look it over. Perhaps I can go this week. O Miss Penny, how would you feel about going with me?” “I would--why, Alice!” Mrs. Lorraine, seeing that her daughter was very pale and looked as if she were about to faint, rose and went to her. “Are you ill, Alice?” she cried anxiously, holding a goblet of water to her lips. “No, no, mother. It’s nothing. Please sit down again. I had a--sort of pain, that’s all,” the girl declared. She wouldn’t lie down and even made a pretence of eating her supper. Her colour came back and as she seemed all right next day her mother was not troubled. Indeed, as the week passed, she felt less anxious than she had for some time, for Alice seemed more like her old self again. She hardly went out at all except to the Millers’ or with Anna. And on Sunday, to her mother’s surprise and delight, she remained in all afternoon. A storm had been imminent all day and snow began to fall just as the first bell rang for evening service. Ten minutes after the second bell had ceased ringing, Alice stole down the back stairs in tam o’ shanter and ulster and would have slipped out but that her mother saw her and stopped her at the door. “Alice, you’re not going out?” she said, though the girl’s purpose was evident. “I am going to Farleigh to drop this letter in the post office, mother.” “But, my dear child, it isn’t open on Sunday.” “There’s a place on the outside where you can drop letters in,” declared the girl. “What a pity you didn’t send it by Mr. Miller! Don’t you know, Alice, that he always goes down for evening service?” “I didn’t want to send it by him.” “Indeed, is it a very important letter, Alice?” “It’s a letter to father!” cried the girl.