the pantry. Then she stepped into the sitting-room, awed by the solemn
stillness that enveloped the usually cheerful room. How strange and
dark it seemed with all the blinds closed! She groped her way across the
floor, and tiptoed through the hall as if she were afraid that the great
eight-day clock in the corner might hear her and call her back. Its loud
tick-tock was the only sound in the house, except her own rapid
breathing.

[Illustration: "IT WAS THE BOX THAT HELD THE GREEN KID SHOES."]

Throwing open a western window, she pushed back the shutters until the
guest-chamber was all alight with the glow of the sunset. Then she
clutched the handles of the bureau drawer with fingers that twitched
guiltily, and gave a jerk. It was locked. For a moment her
disappointment was so great that she was ready to cry, but her face soon
cleared and she began a search for the keys. Under the rug, in the vases
on the mantel, behind photograph frames, into every crack where a key
could be hidden, she peered with eager brown eyes. It was not to be
found. Finally she climbed on a chair to the highest closet shelf, where
she came across something that made her give a cry of delight. It was
the box that held the green kid shoes.

"I'll wear this much of my party clothes, anyhow," she declared,
scrambling down with the box in her arms. Then followed a fruitless
search for the silk stockings that matched them. They were not in the
box with the shoes, where they had always been kept, and a rummage
through the drawers showed nothing suitable.

She heard her Aunt Sally's cook blowing the horn for supper before she
gave up the search. That night after she and Lottie had gone up to bed,