“Letitia Hopkins.”
“Then you must be.”
“I don't believe I am.”
Suddenly Letitia felt a hard little boy-hand clutch hers in the dark. The boy's voice whispered forcibly in her ear. “Say,” said the voice, “did you—did you get here, I wonder, in some queer way just as I did?”
Letitia whispered forcibly, “Through a little green door in my Great-aunt Peggy's cheese-room.”
“Had she told you never to open it?”
“Yes, but she and Hannah left me alone when they went to meeting and I found the key in a little box, and the key had a green ribbon and it unlocked the door, and I was in the woods around here, and Aunt Peggy's house was gone and everything.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I don't know. It must have been a long time, for I have done so much work, and learned to do so much that I had started with all done.”
“It is just the same with me,” whispered the boy.