Leslie looked very uncomprehending.

“You didn’t suppose I let those girls come in here and spend their morning on that nonsense for nothing, did you?  This is some of their work, the work that’s crowding all the frolic out of their lives.  I’ve found out where they keep it, and I’ve stolen some.  I’m Scotch, you know, and I believe in brownies.  They’re good to believe in.  Old fables are generally all but true.  You’ve only to ‘put in one to make it so,’ as children say in ‘odd and even.’” And Miss Craydocke overcasted her first buttonhole energetically.

Leslie Goldthwaite saw through the whole now, in a minute.  “You did it on purpose, for an excuse!” she said; and there was a ring of applauding delight in her voice which a note of admiration poorly marks.

“Well, you must begin somehow,” said Miss Craydocke.  “And after you’ve once begun, you can keep on.”  Which, as a generality, was not so glittering, perhaps, as might be; but Leslie could imagine, with a warm heart-throb, what, in this case, Miss Craydocke’s “keeping on” would be.

“I found them out by degrees,” said Miss Craydocke.  “They’ve been overhead here, this month nearly, and if you don’t listen nor look more than is lady-like, you can’t help scraps enough to piece something out of by that time.  They sit by their window, and I sit by mine.  I cough, and sneeze, and sing, as much as I find comfortable, and they can’t help knowing where their neighbors are; and after that, it’s their lookout, of course.  I lent them some books one Sunday, and so we got on a sort of visiting terms, and lately I’ve gone in, sometimes, and sat down awhile when I’ve had an errand, and they’ve been here; the amount of it is, they’re two young things that’ll grow old before they know they’ve ever been young, if somebody don’t take hold.  They’ve only got just so much time to stay; and if we don’t contrive a holiday for them before it’s over, why,—­there’s the ’Inasmuch,’—­that’s all.”

Dakie Thayne came to the door to fetch Leslie and the curtain.

“It’s all ready, Dakie,—­here; but I can’t go just now,—­not unless they want me very much, and then you’ll come, please, won’t you, and let me know again?” said Leslie, bundling up the mass of cambric, and piling it upon Dakie’s arms.

Dakie looked disappointed, but promised, and departed.  They were finding him useful upstairs, and Leslie had begged him to help.

“Now give me that other dress,” she said, turning to Miss Craydocke.  “And you,—­couldn’t you go and steal something else?” She spoke impetuously, and her eyes shone with eagerness, and more.