“I see.  I understand.”

She looked as if she did understand, and Jed, the seldom understood, experienced an unusual pleasure.  The sensation produced an unusual result.

“It’s a kind of cute and old-fashioned house inside,” he observed.  “Maybe you’d like to go in and look around; would you?”

She looked very much pleased.  “Oh, I should, indeed!” she exclaimed.  “May I?”

Now, the moment after he issued the invitation he was sorry.  It had been quite unpremeditated and had been given he could not have told why.  His visitor had seemed so genuinely interested, and, above all, had treated him like a rational human being instead of a freak.  Under this unaccustomed treatment Jed Winslow had been caught off his guard—­hypnotized, so to speak.  And now, when it was too late, he realized the possible danger.  Only a few hours ago he had told Mr. and Mrs. George Powless that the key to that house had been lost.

He paused and hesitated.  Mrs. Armstrong noticed his hesitation.

“Please don’t think any more about it,” she said.  “It is delightful here in the yard.  Babbie and I will stay here a few minutes, if we may, and you must go back to your work, Mr. Winslow.”

But Jed, having put his foot in it, was ashamed to withdraw.  He hastened to disclaim any intention of withdrawal.

“No, no,” he protested.  “I don’t need to go to work, not yet anyhow.  I should be real pleased to show you the house, ma’am.  You wait now and I’ll fetch the key.”

Some five minutes later he reappeared with triumph in his eye and the “lost” key in his hand.

“Sorry to keep you waitin’, ma’am,” he explained.  “The key had—­ er—­stole its nest, as you might say.  Got it now, though.”

His visitors looked at the key, which was attached by a cord to a slab of wood about the size of half a shingle.  Upon one side of the slab were lettered in black paint the words here it is.  Barbara’s curiosity was aroused.

“What have you got those letters on there for, Mr. Winslow?” she asked.  “What does it say?”

Jed solemnly read the inscription.  “I printed that on there,” he explained, “so I’d be able to find the key when I wanted it.”

Mrs. Armstrong smiled.  “I should think it might help,” she observed, evidently much amused.

Mr. Winslow nodded.  “You would think so,” he said, “wouldn’t you?  Maybe ’twould, too, only ‘twas such a plaguey nuisance, towin’ that half a cord of wood around, that I left it to home last time.  Untied the string, you know, and just took the key.  The wood and the string was hangin’ up in the right place, but the key wan’t among those present, as they say in the newspapers.”

“Where was it?” demanded Barbara.

“Hush, dear,” cautioned her mother.  “You mustn’t ask so many questions.”

“That’s all right, ma’am; I don’t mind a mite.  Where was it?  We-ll, ’twas in my pants pocket here, just where I put it last time I used it.  Naturally enough I shouldn’t have thought of lookin’ there and I don’t know’s I’d have found it yet, but I happened to shove my hands in my pockets to help me think, and there ’twas.”