Without another word he laid the book on the broad base-shelf, picked up his crutch, and went out. As she watched his retreating figure, a little uneasy feeling troubled her usual calm. He seemed so small, so harmless a person.
A little later it occurred to her to see how he had entered the library, and stepping through the two smaller rooms at the back, choked and dusty with neglected piles of old magazines, she noticed a door ajar. Picking her way through the chaos, she pulled the knob, and saw that it gave on a tiny back porch. On the steps sat the janitor, as incompetent, from the librarian's point of view, as his late employer.
"I thought you were sweeping off the walks, Thomas," she suggested, coughing as the wreaths from his pipe reached her.
"Well, yes, Miss Watkins, so I was. I just stopped a minute to rest, you see," he explained, eyeing her distrustfully. Since her advent life had changed greatly for the janitor.
"I see Thomas, does that little lame boy come in this way?"
"Jimmy? Yes, ma'am. 'Most always he does. In fact, that's why I keep the door unlocked."
"Well, after this I prefer that you should keep it locked. There is no reason why he should have a private entrance to the library that I can see; and anyway it's not safe. Some one might——"
"Oh, Lord, Miss Watkins, don't you worry. Nobody ever came in here yet, and I've been here eight years. Jimmy's all right. He's careful and still's a mouse, and he won't do a mite of harm. He comes in regular after school's out, and it's just like a home to him, you may say. He's all right."
Miss Watkins frowned.