She hurried along the streets until she came to one near the suburbs of the town. This street had trees on either side, and was very quiet. The houses were small and nearly all set back from the street.
Lottie walked along briskly, turning deftly in and out, and at length arrived safe and sound at the little gate leading into her aunt's yard. This gate opened upon a small space, which doubtless had been intended by the builder of the house to he beautified with flowers; but Mrs. Durand's front yard was closely paved with red brick. Not a flower, or a vine, or a bush broke the monotony, which, however, was not wearisome, as the yard was small.
A high board fence enclosed the little yard on each side. Close to the gate stood a large, old poplar, strangely drawn toward the quiet narrow street, as if weary of the unattractiveness of the house.
Lottie was nervous; she dreaded the reception she felt sure awaited her. The only thing that occurred to her to do was to knock, and she did so.
Receiving no response, she knocked again and waited. There was still no response, and thinking she had not been heard, she knocked again and again.
At length, just as she had decided that her aunt must be out, a calm voice from behind the door said in deliberate tones:
"If you will take the trouble to turn the knob, the door might open."
This idea had not occurred to Lottie, and the knowledge that the door was not locked somewhat confused her. However, she opened the door, and went in.
"There is a mat in front of the door," suggested the voice in the same slow, measured tones.
After wiping off the infinitesimal amount of dust from her shoes, Lottie timidly ventured into the room.