Jane Foster's knife dropped into her pan with a splash.
"Well," she gasped.
Judith looked at her with quiet eyes.
"The Closed Room!" Jane cried out. "What are you saying? You couldn't get in?"
"Yes, I can."
Jane was conscious of experiencing a shock. She said afterwards that suddenly something gave her the creeps.
"You couldn't open the door," she persisted. "I tried it again yesterday as I passed by—turned the handle and gave it a regular shove and it wouldn't give an inch."
"Yes," the child answered; "I heard you. We were inside then."
A few days later, when Jane weepingly related the incident to awe-stricken and sympathizing friends, she described as graphically as her limited vocabulary would allow her to do so, the look in Judith's face as she came nearer to her.
"Don't tell me there was nothing happening then," she said. "She just came up to me with them dead flowers in her hand an' a kind of look in her eyes as if she was half sorry for me an' didn't know quite why.