cut in two. It hid, stooping under the ivy bush on its roof. It was not
like the houses people live in; there was something queer, some secret,
frightening thing about it.

The man came out and went to the gate and stood there. _He_ was the
frightening thing. When he saw her he stepped back and crouched behind the
palings, ready to jump out.

She turned slowly, as if she had thought of something. She mustn't run.
She must _not_ run. If she ran he would come after her.

Her mother was coming down the garden walk, tall and beautiful in her
silver-gray gown with the bands of black velvet on the flounces and the
sleeves; her wide, hooped skirts swung, brushing the flower borders.

She ran up to her, crying, "Mamma, I went up the lane where you told me
not to."

"No, Hatty, no; you didn't."

You could see she wasn't angry. She was frightened.

"I did. I did."

Her mother took the bunch of flowers out of her hand and looked at it.
"Yes," she said, "that's where the dark-red campion grows."

She was holding the flowers up to her face. It was awful, for you could
see her mouth thicken and redden over its edges and shake. She hid it
behind the flowers. And somehow you knew it wasn't your naughtiness that