"What d'you mean?" she exclaimed.
"Listen!" was the answer. "You'll hear the noise. Some one was working the grindstone. Why, I heard the little squeak of the treadle as plainly as anything."
"You have been dreaming, you little silly!"
"No, I haven't! What I say is quite true."
There was something in the speaker's tone which showed that she was very much in earnest.
"And you mean to say that you've been all the way downstairs?"
"Yes; I went to the yard door. I meant to have gone across to the tool-house, but I was frightened."
"Well, if any one was there, it must have been Guy or Brian—probably Brian, for he's the only one who can sharpen tools. I'll go across and ask."
Throwing the dressing-gown over her shoulders, Ida left the room. She still did not believe that either of the boys had been up at that unearthly hour using the grindstone, but she wished to prove to Elsie that it was all imagination. As she passed the head of the stairs she suddenly stopped. Somewhere, down below, she distinctly heard a soft noise like the patter of slippered feet. Ida leant over the banisters.
