House by house, block by block, it drew nearer. Every day that was pleasant enough for Margaret to be out she commanded Sarah to wheel her past the work of demolition, much to Sarah's disgust, who infinitely preferred the quiet, sunny, unobstructed walks of peaceful Charlton Street. Then, before turning the corner homeward, Margaret would beg to be wheeled past McCorkle's stable, at which she would gaze hard and rapturously as long as it was in sight. This also deeply annoyed and bewildered Sarah.
"Bedad!" she would exclaim impatiently, "it does beat me what ye see in that dur-rty owld rookery! 'Tis fit only fur th' scrap-heap, and ye look at it as if it was hung wid diamonds! What's got into ye these days, Margie macushla! 'Tis that quare Corinne gur-rl that has bewitched ye!"
Margaret could easily see that Sarah was very, very jealous of her new friend, so she would say nothing, but only smile her slow, mysterious little smile. "That queer Corinne girl" had indeed bewitched her, and had brought into her pain-ridden, colorless existence something worth living for! But this, of course, she could not admit to Sarah.
At last, one cold, blustery afternoon, the twins burst in with the exciting information that the house-wrecking had actually commenced on their own block, up at the King Street corner. After that the interest became concentrated and intense. And by the time the little old dormer-windowed shanty on their own corner was leveled to the ground, they had reached the tiptoe of excitement.
Fully two weeks before this McCorkle's stable had been vacated and left ready for its destruction. And since then Alexander had spent much time crawling around its foundations and examining it in every nook and cranny.
When the little building next to it came down, and the day before the stable was to have its turn, the Antiquarian Club held an important meeting, called at the request of Alexander.
"This is going to be ticklish business!" he announced; "getting at that beam, I mean. And I ain't so sure it's going to pan out all right, either. Good thing to-morrow's Saturday, so I can be on the job all day. But I've been laying my pipes pretty slick! I've got on the soft side of a lot of those workmen, and the night-watchman loves me as if I was his little nephew Willie! It's the night-watchman I'm depending on most. He's agreed to let me in there to grub around any night I want—so long as I don't do any damage. But, see here, you kids! Don't be setting your hopes on me getting at anything to-morrow, 'cause more'n likely they won't touch the foundation before next week!"
The next day saw the demolition of McCorkle's stable. It being Saturday, the Antiquarian Club was able to be present in full force (on the opposite side of the street) to see it go. Margaret's chair was wheeled by the twins and Corinne in turn. But Alexander, across the street in the danger-zone, gyrated, imp-like, up and down the sidewalk and was twenty times ousted from imminent peril by the half-indignant, half-laughing workmen.
Piece by piece the boards and bricks fell, story by story the old building came down, till at last it was level with the very sidewalk, and carts began to remove the debris. Then was visible the strange thing that Alexander had long before told them about.