against the outer sill of his window. Again the chuckler--now an
unmistakable laugh floated to his ears. With a smothered exclamation he
stepped forward again, and looked upward. There, against the violet-gray
of the star-sprinkled sky, bulked a crouching shape, cuddled on the
landing above.

Brencherly held his breath. It seemed that the woman must fall from her
perch, so insecure it seemed. He controlled himself, thinking rapidly.
Then he laughed in return.

"That _was_ a good joke you played on me," he said. "How did you ever
think of it?"

"Oh," came the answer, punctuated by smothered peals of laughter.
"That's the way I got away from the Sanatorium. I just went up instead
of down, and stayed there, till they'd hunted all the place over. Then
when I saw where they weren't, I just went down and walked out."

"That was clever," he exclaimed. "But you can't be comfortable up there.
Won't you come down, and I'll get something for you to eat. You must be
hungry, and cold, too."

"No," came the response. "I sort of like it here. It reminds me of the
way I fooled them all back there; and they thinking themselves that
sharp, too. It's sort of nice, too, looking at the stars--sort of feels
like a bird in a nest, don't it?"

"I hope to goodness, she don't take it into her head she can fly,"
thought Brencherly. Aloud he said: "Say, do you mind if I come up there
and sit with you a while? I'm sort of lonesome here myself." He had