“When I saw her in the bright daylight I thought she moved some, but whenever I looked at her when it was almost dark she seemed to move more!”

Gwen paused to see if the other children were impressed, and looked up just in time to see Rob Lindsey “nudge” his sister.  Her eyes flashed.

“Well, p’raps you don’t believe it, Rob Lindsey, but I saw it, and I guess I know!” she said.

“Go on, Gwen,” said Rob, who was a great tease, “I only touched Lena’s arm to let her know the ‘scare’ part of the yarn was coming.”

Thus reassured, Gwen continued her story.

“Well, this time I’m telling ’bout, the lady in the yellow gown looked at me, and—­waved her fan!”

“Hot day?” questioned Rob, but Gwen chose not to notice what he said.

“She waved her big feather fan slower and slower, and then—­she walked right out of the picture and came down on the floor!”

“Oh—­o!” said Princess Polly, and “Oh—­oo—­oo!” said Lena, but Rob asked a question.

“Did your fine lady come down on the floor in a heap?”

“Did she bust her feather fan?” questioned Harry Grafton.

“You’re not nice to laugh when I’m telling a story,” said Gwen, “and I guess you wouldn’t have laughed if you’d been there!”

“Why, what happened?” Lena asked, partly because she was curious and partly to be kind.

“I’ll never know just what did truly happen, because just as she came toward me, I was so scared I fainted, and when I came to, the lady had vanished, but the big hole in the canvas showed just where she’d stood!”

“Why Gwen Harcourt!  You know that story’s a fib story all the way through!” said Harry.

“’Tis not!” said Gwen, “and I guess I know!”

She sprang from the grass, and ran down the driveway.

“I guess when you see the big frame, and the picture with a big hole in it just the shape of the lady, that showed where she was, I guess you’ll have to b’lieve it,” she said, and having said this to the boys that had teased her, she hurried down the avenue.

“Oh, what an awful story!” said Polly, “it made me feel like shivering, and I was glad the boys were with us.”

“If Gwen Harcourt likes to tell such stories, she can,” said Leslie, “but she needn’t say they’re true.”

“Oh, but perhaps some of it—–­” Polly stopped.  She had meant to speak kindly, but what part of so silly a story could be true?

“You’ve been in her parlor, Leslie,” said Harry, “did you see the picture with the big hole in it, just where the fine lady stepped out from the frame?  Leslie, have you?”

“Yes,” admitted Leslie, “I’ve been there.”

“Was the big picture with the big hole in it hanging there?” he asked.