"We shall find out if it came true. Go on, Miss Wesley."
"But if it was Friday's dream," Rebecca persisted, "and he wanted it to come true, he couldn't help telling it."
"Couldn't help being a sneak, I suppose you mean!"
A sound outside the window cut short this argument. All glanced up: but it came this time from no avalanche of snow. Someone had planted a ladder against the house, and the top of the ladder was scraping against the window-sill.
"Too short by six feet," Hetty heard a voice say, and held her breath. The ladder was joggled a little and fixed again. Footsteps began to ascend it. A face and a pair of broad shoulders rose into sight over the sill. They belonged to William Wright.
"I—I think, dears, we had better find some other room."
Hetty had sprung up and felt herself shaking from head to foot. For the moment he was not looking in, but stood at the top of the ladder with his head thrown back, craning for a view of the water-trough under the eaves.
"About two feet to the right," he called to someone below. "No use shifting the ladder; 'twon't reach. Stay a minute, though—I don't believe 'tis a leak at all. Here—"
He felt the closed window with the palm of his hand, then peered through it into the room; and his eyes and Hetty's met.
"Well, I do declare! Good morning, miss: 'tis like fate, the way I keep running across you. Now would you be so kind as to lift the latch on your side and push the window gently? The frame opens outwards and I want to steady myself by it."