Stefana carried the disputed garment back into the house and rewashed
it; it was dripping wet when she again dangled it beside the others.
Several times during the afternoon this process was repeated, until, at
nightfall, the entire wash dripped, rewashed and soggy. Miss Theodosia
nodded her head approvingly; she had her reasons for being glad that the
wash was to remain out overnight.

It was a starless, moonless night--a night to prowl successfully about
clotheslines.

Miss Theodosia prowled. The little dry-goods box full of children was a
small, vague blur, a little darker than the darkness. The children slept
the profound sleep of childhood and childhood's unbelonging toil. Sleep
was smoothing Stefana's roughened little nerves with gentle hand and
fortifying her courage for yet more strenuous toils to come.
Evangeline's weary little arm--and tongue--were resting.

Miss Theodosia prowled softly, to avoid disturbing the little box-house.
She had the guilty conscience of the prowler that sent her heart into
her mouth at the crackling of a twig under her feet. She found herself
listening, holding her breath in a small panic. No sound of wakened
sleepers, but there must be no more twigs.

"I must add a postscript to Cornelia Dunlap's letter," she thought.
"This would make a thrilling wind-up! Cornelia would say, 'Lawk-a-daisy
me, it _can't_ be Theodosia Baxter!' She wouldn't need any little dog."

Safe in her own house once more, Miss Theodosia breathed a sigh of
relief. Saved! But there was another trip yet to be made to that region