"Too short by six feet," Hetty heard a voice say, and held her
breath. The ladder was joggled a little and fixed again. Footsteps
began to ascend it. A face and a pair of broad shoulders rose into
sight over the sill. They belonged to William Wright.

"I--I think, dears, we had better find some other room."

Hetty had sprung up and felt herself shaking from head to foot.
For the moment he was not looking in, but stood at the top of the
ladder with his head thrown back, craning for a view of the
water-trough under the eaves.

"About two feet to the right," he called to someone below. "No use
shifting the ladder; 'twon't reach. Stay a minute, though--I don't
believe 'tis a leak at all. Here--"

He felt the closed window with the palm of his hand, then peered
through it into the room; and his eyes and Hetty's met.

"Well, I do declare! Good morning, miss: 'tis like fate, the way I
keep running across you. Now would you be so kind as to lift the
latch on your side and push the window gently? The frame opens
outwards and I want to steady myself by it."

She obeyed, and was turning haughtily to follow the children when
George, who loitered in the doorway watching, called out:

"Is he coming into the room, Miss Wesley?"