Round the Corner in Gay Street

by Grace S. Richmond

"We'll have you now, Jane--it's no use. Shirley 's kept us away so far--the rascal--but your time 's up!"

She could not be caught! There was a tiny door low down in the side of the closet where she was hiding, and dark though she knew it must be in the unknown region beyond this door, she opened it, slipped through, closed it, and crept along the bare beams beyond.

Murray was carrying a little electric searchlight, which he was flashing into every nook and crevice. Its sharp beam had penetrated the hole in the blankets Ross had kept for a breathing space. It had likewise sought out the hems of skirts, the soles of shoes, fingers clutching concealing draperies, and elbows sticking unwarily out from sly nooks. Jane saw its rays outline the edges of the small door beyond which she crouched; then she heard Murray's triumphant cry, "O-ho, she's dropped her handkerchief! Now we 're hot on the trail. She's gone through this door, the crafty lady!"

There was a shout of mingled laughter and expostulation. "She wouldn't go through that rat-hole! It's too dark in there for a girl. There 's no floor, either."

But Murray was attempting to open the door. It was a sliding door, not a hinged one, and for a moment it delayed him, for he was not familiar with these regions, so dear to Shirley.

During that moment, Jane, with the breathless unreadiness to be discovered which takes hold of the hiding one, even in a game, had desperately retreated over the rafters, in the hope of coming upon some sheltering corner. The next instant, with a smothered cry, she had fallen over the edge of something, splash into three feet of water!

Nobody had heard her, and somehow, in the intensity of the game, Jane's second emotion, after the startling sensation of her sudden immersion, was one of absurd relief at finding herself, after all, safe from discovery. For, as the little door at last flew open, and Murray's brilliant light leaped into the space under the eaves, it disclosed to Jane that she had dropped into a cistern, the top of which lay level with the floor beams, and at the bottom thereof, where, having scrambled to her feet, she stood stooping, was out of sight of the faces peering in at the small door.

"Not here," was Murray's disappointed observation, after one wave of his light round the small space, "unless she's in mother's special rain-water tank, white frock and all. Come on. I thought we had her then, sure. Where can she be? She's been here--witness that handkerchief. And if there's a cranny we have n't explored, I 'll----"

The little door closed with a slam; the light faded away from its edges. The voices of the party were heard retreating down the stairs, and Jane was left alone to realise the humour of the situation.

It was undoubtedly humorous. It could hardly be dangerous, for October had been a mild month, and Jane was well used to cold plunges. The wetting of the pretty frock was of no consequence, for it was quite washable. It was fairly easy to scramble back to the rafters--Jane had done that the moment the searching party was out of hearing, and was carefully wringing out her drenched skirts. Her impromptu bath had wet her to the shoulders, besides bruising her arm rather badly. But the trying thing was to get downstairs and away without being discovered--and the whole company in full cry over the house!