"Isaphiny" seemed to be upstairs; for presently they heard her running
down, after which a fresh rattle began at the obstinate bolt. But still
the door did not open, and at length Mrs. Worrett put her lips to the
keyhole, and asked,--

"Who is it?"

The voice sounded so hollow and ghostly, that Elsie jumped, as she
answered: "It's I, Mrs. Worrett,--Elsie Carr. And Johnnie's here,
too."

"Ts, ts, ts!" sounded from within, and then came a whispering; after
which Mrs. Worrett put her mouth again to the keyhole, and called out:
"Go round to the back, children. I can't make this door open anyway.
It's swelled up with the damp."

"Damp!" whispered Johnnie; "why, it hasn't rained since the third week
in August; papa said so yesterday."

"That's nothing, Miss Johnnie," put in Alexander, overhearing her.
"Folks hereaway don't open their front doors much,--only for weddings
and funerals and such like. Very likely this has stood shut these
five years. I know the last time I drove Miss Carr out, before she
died, it was just so; and she had to go round to the back, as you're
a-doing now."

John's eyes grew wide with wonder; but there was no time to say any
thing, for they had turned the corner of the house, and there was
Mrs. Worrett waiting at the kitchen door to receive them. She looked
fatter than ever, Elsie thought; but she kissed them both, and said