From beyond the fence came the murmurings of a boy and a girl in hushed but urgent conversation; and with these sounds there mingled watery agitations, splashings and the like, as well as those low vocalizings that Violet had recognized; but suddenly there were muffled explosions, like fireworks choked in feather beds; and the human voices grew uncontrollably somewhat louder, so that their import was distinguishable. “Ow!” “Hush up, can’t you?  You want to bring the whole town to—­ow!” “Hush up yourself!” “Oh, goodness!” “Look out!  Don’t let her——­” “Well, look what she’s doin’ to me, can’t you?” “For Heavenses’ sakes, catch holt and——­Ow!”

Then came a husky voice, inevitably that of a horrified coloured person hastening from a distance:  “Oh, my soul!” There was a scurrying, and the girl was heard in furious yet hoarsely guarded vehemence:  “Bring the clo’es prop!  Bring the clo’es prop!  We can poke that one down from the garage, anyway. Oh, my goodness, look at ’er go!”

Mrs. Balche shook her head.  “Naughty children!” she said, as she picked up the saucer and went to the kitchen door, which she held open for Violet to enter.  “Want to come with mamma?”

But Violet had lost even the faint interest in life he had shown a few moments earlier.  He settled himself to another stupor in the sun.

“Well, well,” Mrs. Balche said indulgently.  “Afterwhile shall have some more nice keem.”

* * * * *

Sunset was beginning to be hinted, two hours later, when, in another quarter of the town, a little girl of seven or eight, at play on the domestic side of an alley gate, became aware of an older girl regarding her fixedly over the top of the gate.  The little girl felt embarrassed and paused in her gayeties, enfolding in her arms her pet and playmate.  “Howdy’ do,” said the stranger, in a serious tone.  “What’ll you take for that cat?”

The little girl made no reply, and the stranger, opening the gate, came into the yard.  She looked weary, rather bedraggled, yet hurried:  her air was predominantly one of anxiety.  “I’ll give you a quarter for that cat,” she said.  “I want an all-white cat, but this one’s only got that one gray spot over its eye, and I don’t believe there’s an all-white cat left in town, leastways that anybody’s willing to part with.  I’ll give you twenty-five cents for it.  I haven’t got it with me, but I’ll promise to give it to you day after to-morrow.”

The little girl still made no reply, but continued to stare, her eyes widening, and the caller spoke with desperation.

“See here,” she said, “I got to have a whitish cat!  That’n isn’t worth more’n a quarter, but I’ll give you thirty-five cents for her, money down, day after to-morrow.”

At this, the frightened child set the cat upon the ground and fled into the house.  Florence Atwater was left alone; that is to say, she was the only human being in the yard, or in sight.  Nevertheless, a human voice spoke, not far behind her.  It came through a knot-hole in the fence, and it was a voice almost of passion.