With a good deal of curiosity and some misgiving I obeyed. What was in the wind now? Outside in the hall I found the Story Girl, with a candle in her hand, and her hat and jacket.
“Where are you going?” I whispered in amazement.
“Hush. I’ve got to go to the school and you must come with me. I left my coral necklace there. The clasp came loose and I was so afraid I’d lose it that I took it off and put it in the bookcase. I was feeling so upset when the concert was over that I forgot all about it.”
The coral necklace was a very handsome one which had belonged to the Story Girl’s mother. She had never been permitted to wear it before, and it had only been by dint of much coaxing that she had induced Aunt Janet to let her wear it to the concert.
“But there’s no sense in going for it in the dead of night,” I objected. “It will be quite safe. You can go for it in the morning.”
“Lizzie Paxton and her daughter are going to clean the school tomorrow, and I heard Lizzie say tonight she meant to be at it by five o’clock to get through before the heat of the day. You know perfectly well what Liz Paxton’s reputation is. If she finds that necklace I’ll never see it again. Besides, if I wait till the morning, Aunt Janet may find out that I left it there and she’d never let me wear it again. No, I’m going for it now. If you’re afraid,” added the Story Girl with delicate scorn, “of course you needn’t come.”
Afraid! I’d show her!
“Come on,” I said.
We slipped out of the house noiselessly and found ourselves in the unutterable solemnity and strangeness of a dark night. It was a new experience, and our hearts thrilled and our nerves tingled to the charm of it. Never had we been abroad before at such an hour. The world around us was not the world of daylight. ‘Twas an alien place, full of weird, evasive enchantment and magicry.
Only in the country can one become truly acquainted with the night. There it has the solemn calm of the infinite. The dim wide fields lie in silence, wrapped in the holy mystery of darkness. A wind, loosened from wild places far away, steals out to blow over dewy, star-lit, immemorial hills. The air in the pastures is sweet with the hush of dreams, and one may rest here like a child on its mother’s breast.