of sombre sycamore and horsechestnut trees. As they passed down into
it, a little wind sprang up, the fallen leaves stirred, and the branches
heaved a long, rustling sigh.

"I hate this bit of road," said Jane, hurrying on. "It's just the sort
of place that people get robbed and murdered in."

"It is not such a bad place to shelter in if we get caught in the rain,
as I expect we shall before we get back," said Agatha, feeling the
fitful breeze strike ominously on her cheek. "A nice pickle I shall be
in with these light shoes on! I wish I had put on my strong boots. If it
rains much I will go into the old chalet."

"Miss Wilson won't let you. It's trespassing."

"What matter! Nobody lives in it, and the gate is off its hinges. I only
want to stand under the veranda--not to break into the wretched place.
Besides, the landlord knows Miss Wilson; he won't mind. There's a drop."

Miss Carpenter looked up, and immediately received a heavy raindrop in
her eye.

"Oh!" she cried. "It's pouring. We shall be drenched."

Agatha stopped, and the column broke into a group about her.

"Miss Wilson," she said, "it is going to rain in torrents, and Jane and
I have only our shoes on."

Miss Wilson paused to consider the situation. Someone suggested that if