Then, one night, something unusual occurred. They had sent down the usual note, and also a little work-basket of Indian-woven sweet-grass, the souvenir of a recent trip to the seaside. To their astonishment, when they drew up the string, both note and basket were still attached. This was the first time such a thing had happened.
"What can be the matter?" queried Marcia. "Can it be possible that Cecily feels she mustn't do this any more?"
"I didn't hear any footsteps down there to-night, did you?" said Janet.
"No, come to think of it, I didn't. She must have stayed indoors for the first time since we began this. But what do you suppose is the reason?"
Janet suddenly clutched her friend. "Marcia, can it be possible that Miss Benedict has discovered what we've been doing, and won't let her come out any more?"
"I believe that's it!" Marcia's voice was sharp with consternation. "Wouldn't it be dreadful, if it's so?" They sat gloomily thinking it over.
"Well, what are we going to do about it?" demanded Marcia.
"Wait till to-morrow night and try again," counseled Janet. "It's just possible Cecily had a headache or felt sick from this abominable heat and couldn't come down. Let's see what happens to-morrow."
The next night they tied the basket and another note to the string and dropped it down hopefully. But they drew it up untouched, precisely the same as before.
"It's just one of two things," decided Marcia. "Either Cecily is ill or Miss Benedict has found out about our little plan and forbidden Cecily to go on with it. What are we to do? Keep on sending notes, or stop it? Suppose Miss Benedict herself should find one sometime."