was, issued forth on his morning walk to town for the day's
supplies.

Always exact, always in a hurry--knowing as he did that the judge
would not leave for court till his return--he had never, in all
the eight years she had been sitting in that window making button-
holes, shown any hesitation in his methodical relocking of the
gate and subsequent quick departure.

But this morning he had neither borne himself with his usual
spirit nor moved with his usual promptitude. Instead of stepping
at once into the lane, he had lingered in the gate-way peering to
right and left and pushing the gravel aside with his foot in a way
so unlike himself that the moment he was out of sight, she could
not help running down the lane to see if her suspicions were
correct.

And they were. Not only had he left the gate unlocked, but he had
done so purposely. The movement he had made with his foot had been
done for the purpose of pushing into place a small pebble, which,
as all could see, lay where it would best prevent the gate from
closing.

What could such treachery mean, and what was her neighbourly duty
under circumstances so unparalleled? Should she go away, or stop
and take one peep just to see that there really was another and
similar fence inside of this one? She had about decided that it
was only proper for her to enter and make sure that all was right
with the judge, when she experienced that peculiar sense of being
watched with which all of us are familiar, and turning quickly