“Anyway, you know how lonesome it is over there?”
“I guess there are not many people about—after dark.”
“That’s just it!” cried Rosa. “Mrs. Bobster scurries around and does all her out of doors chores before dark. And she locks and bolts all the doors. She is really afraid after dark.”
Ruth nodded. She remembered how once the little old woman who lived in a shoe had spoken to her about being afraid.
“Well, she locks and bolts the doors,” said Rosa, “and then we have supper and I go to bed. Sometimes, like a good child, I go right to sleep. Sometimes, like a bad child, I don’t.”
“Well—what then?”
“Then I hear Mrs. Bobster talking. She has company. I never hear the company come in, or go out; but she has it every night.”
“And never says anything about it?”
“Not a word,” said Rosa. “I hinted once or twice that she must have company every night, and all she said was that she didn’t like sitting alone.”
“Is it a man or a woman?” asked Ruth.