"Good idea!" vouchsafed Sam Slawson senior, speaking for the first time.
As soon as Mrs. Peckett was well out of sight and hearing, Martha turned reprovingly upon her husband.
"Sam Slawson, what d'you mean by——?"
Sam composedly pulled on his boots.
"Only way to get rid of her," he answered succinctly.
"Oh!" said Martha, going to the cupboard, where she kept her store of simple home remedies. "Now, if you're ready, I am. An', young Sammy, you run, an' tell your gran'mother to give you childern bread an' milk for your suppers. Your father an' I are goin' out. We mayn't be back till late."
CHAPTER II
It was dusk when Martha reached the Crewe place.
As she turned in at the entrance-gate, she thought she saw a spark of light prick out through the darkness of one of the upper-story windows, but the next instant it disappeared, and the gloomy house stood formidably looming up against its background of dense foliage, facing her, as with a challenge, as black as ever.
Martha Slawson was not one to be intimidated. She plodded steadily along the driveway, regardless of the strange sensation of shifty gravel crunching beneath feet used to hard city pavements, the thickening shadows to eyes accustomed to the glare of electric-lighted streets, and the soft, surreptitious stirrings of she-knew-not-what among the underbrush to ears familiar with the roar of the Elevated, the clang and dash of passing surface cars.