At the extreme end of the orchard there was a large flat stone under a pear tree, and here they sat down to get breath and look at the dolls and the book.
Marjorie had a great deal to tell about her visit, and as she listened Caro’s eyes presently made a discovery. “Why there’s a gate! where does it go?” she asked.
The boundary line of the Barrows’ grounds was marked by a rough stone wall, against which grew currant and gooseberry bushes, and almost hidden by these she noticed now for the first time a gate.
“Why Caro I’ll tell you, the people who live over there aren’t nice at all. They got mad at papa because of the trolley line, and they won’t give any money to the seminary because they are mad at Uncle Charles too.”
Persons who could be angry at her grandfather certainly could not be nice, Caro thought. “But what was the gate for?” she asked.
“A long time ago when Sister Alice and Brother Charlie were little they used to play with the Graysons.”
“Oh, are there children there?”
“No, indeed; that was a long time ago; but Caro—” Marjorie’s voice sank to a whisper—“there’s a man over there who has something the matter with him. He can’t walk, and a servant pushes him around in a chair. Nobody ever sees him, but one day I peeped over the fence and there he was, all wrapped up and—dear! but I was scared!”
“He couldn’t hurt you, could he?”
“No—I suppose not, but he might say something to me.”