It was all so uncanny, so strange and inexplicable, that the girl was more startled than she had been before. Yet she did not feel so alarmed, this time, as she was curious.
Softly throwing back the coverlet she tiptoed to the connecting door and crouched down to look through the keyhole. Only blackness rewarded the attempt. Then she placed her ear to the panel, but found she could not hear much more distinctly than when lying in bed. Shivering a little in the night air Phœbe was about to retreat when suddenly the thumps began, and between them Elaine spoke.
“Mine!” she said, muttered low but quite distinct. Then came a thump. “Mine!” she repeated. Another thump. “Mine!” she said, again; and so the word and the thump followed each other several times. Afterward, a brief silence and shuffle of the woman’s feet across the room. Then, as before, all sounds ceased.
Phœbe went back to bed thoughtful and perplexed. Surely there was some mystery about this queer performance. She remembered how unwilling Miss Halliday had been to have any of the Darings occupy the hall bedrooms, and it seemed there must be some connection between this reluctance and the strange sounds she had twice heard.
For some indefinite reason which she could not have explained Phœbe said nothing about these experiences, either to the Little Mother or to her brothers or sisters. The girl was inclined, at times, to dream wonderful daydreams when those about her thought her absorbed in humble occupations. Looking upon the world with clear, calm eyes, Phœbe found it essentially practical and commonplace, and accepted it as she found it, striving to do her duty at all times. But the fascinating dreams would not be denied, and one of her secret pleasures was to allow them full play in her mind when her hands were engaged in some unimportant matter. She never confided them even to her beloved twin; they were sacred to herself alone, and any exposure of them would have shamed her terribly.
They were healthy dreams, if inherently romantic and unreal. There was nothing morbid about Phœbe, although it must be admitted she had some queer characteristics that might be called faults. Cousin Judith thought she was more like her mother than any of the other children, yet her shrewd eyes marked the girl’s frequent abstraction and knew her thoughts were often far away from her material surroundings.
Phœbe scented a mystery. That old Miss Halliday possessed some secret which she dreaded to have revealed was quite evident to her, judging from what she had overheard. It would be difficult to explain to others, those peculiar sounds. Perhaps, she would be laughed at if she attempted it. She resolved, therefore, to keep her own counsel and watch Elaine carefully. If she discovered the secret it would then be time enough to make it known; meantime, she could enjoy the suggestion of a mystery without interference.
Practical, everyday life is apt to dispel visionary dreams. Phœbe leaned from her window the next morning and watched Cousin Judith bargaining with Miss Halliday for a dozen of fresh eggs.
“The Randolphs, across the road, pay me twenty cents a dozen,” said Elaine, gruffly. “You can buy eggs from the grocer for eighteen. There’s no need to waste your money on me.”
“Do the Randolphs take all you have?” asked Judith.