Miss Cornelia chuckled.  “Of course there are bats,” she said.  “There are always bats in the country.  They’re perfectly harmless, —­except to switches.”

“And the Bat ye were talking of just then—­he’s harmless too, I suppose?” said Lizzie with mournful satire.  “Oh, Miss Neily, Miss Neily—­do let’s go back to the city before he flies away with u all!”

“Nonsense, Lizzie,” said Miss Cornelia again, but this time less firmly.  Her face grew serious.  “If I thought for an instant that there was any real possibility of our being in danger here—­” she said slowly.  “But—­oh, look at the map, Lizzie!  The Bat has been flying in this district—­that’s true enough—­but he hasn’t come within ten miles of us yet!”

“What’s ten miles to the Bat?” the obdurate Lizzie sighed.  “And what of the letter ye had when ye first moved in here?  ’The Fleming house is unhealthy for strangers,’ it said.  Leave it while ye can.”

“Some silly boy or some crank.”  Miss Cornelia’s voice was firm.  “I never pay any attention to anonymous letters.”

“And there’s a funny-lookin’ letter this mornin’, down at the bottom of the pile—­” persisted Lizzie.  “It looked like the other one.  I’d half a mind to throw it away before you saw it!”

“Now, Lizzie, that’s quite enough!” Miss Cornelia had the Van Gorder manner on now.  “I don’t care to discuss your ridiculous fears any further.  Where is Miss Dale?”

Lizzie assumed an attitude of prim rebuff, “Miss Dale’s gone into the city, ma’am.”

“Gone into the city?”

“Yes, ma’am.  She got a telephone call this morning, early—­long distance it was.  I don’t know who it was called her.”

“Lizzie!  You didn’t listen?”

“Of course not, Miss Neily.”  Lizzie’s face was a study in injured virtue.  “Miss Dale took the call in her own room and shut the door.”

“And you were outside the door?”

“Where else would I be dustin’ that time in the mornin’?” said Lizzie fiercely.  “But it’s yourself knows well enough the doors in this house is thick and not a sound goes past them.”

“I should hope not,” said Miss Cornelia rebukingly.  “But—­tell me, Lizzie, did Miss Dale seem—­well—­this morning?”

“That she did not,” said Lizzie promptly.  “When she came down to breakfast, after the call, she looked like a ghost.  I made her the eggs she likes, too—­but she wouldn’t eat ’em.”

“H’m,” Miss Cornelia pondered.  “I’m sorry if—­well, Lizzie, we mustn’t meddle in Miss Dale’s affairs.”

“No, ma’am.”

“But—­did she say when she would be back?”

“Yes, Miss Neily.  On the two o’clock train.  Oh, and I was almost forgettin’—­she told me to tell you, particular—­she said while he was in the city she’d be after engagin’ the gardener you spoke of.”

“The gardener?  Oh, yes—­I spoke to her about that the other night.  The place is beginning to look run down—­so many flowers to attend to.  Well—­that’s very kind of Miss Dale.”