"Well, 'tisn't here," said an angry voice, and the brandishing of a big, iron spoon made Rachel beat a hasty retreat, this time into the back hall. Miss Parrott was just descending the stairs, her stiff, black silk skirt held high, before she set foot in the servants' quarters.
"Child, child," she said in reproach, "what is the matter?"
"Oh, I've lost the note—I mean, I forgot it." Rachel flew to her and wailed it all out.
"She's crying, that bad girl is, all over Mistress's front breadth," announced Joanna, the parlor maid, through the little window of the butler's pantry.
"La me!" ejaculated the cook, raising her hands and the crash towel, "to think of our mistress so demeaning herself!"
"What note?" cried Miss Parrott, in great bewilderment. "Rachel, stop crying at once and speak plainly. What note do you mean?"
"The one Mrs. Henderson gave me," cried Rachel; "I must go and get it, but
I don't know the way out."
"To give to me? Did Mrs. Henderson tell you to give it to me?" asked Miss
Parrott, beginning to see light.
"Yes'm. Oh, please let me out," begged Rachel; "I left it in the carriage."
"Ah—well, then, we'll go out this way." And there, turning to the left, was the passage down which Rachel had plunged twice before, and at its end, a small green door, that, when opened, led out through an arbor overrun with creepers, to a short cut to the stables.