Off ran Pet, and without much difficulty she persuaded one of the First Division girls to show her through the house.
The first place they visited was the children’s dormitory. This was a long room, with rows of white-curtained beds on either side for the children, and one larger than the rest, at the further end, for Miss Sharpe. Small washstands and mirrors were scattered around, and near each bed was placed a small trunk belonging to the children.
Pet scanned these arrangements with a thoughtful eye. Then, turning to her cicerone, she said:
“In which of the beds am I to sleep?”
“In this one,” said the girl, indicating one at the extreme end of the room, opposite Miss Sharpe’s. “The room was full; so they had to put it close to the window, and you will have a chance to see everybody that passes.”
Pet went over to examine. Within a few inches of the bed was a window overlooking the street. It was partly raised now, and Pet thrust her head out to “see what she could see,” as they say. The first thing that struck her was the fact that the window was in a straight line above the hall door, and only removed from it the distance of a foot or two. Instantly a demoniacal project of mischief flashed across her fertile brain; and as she withdrew her head her wicked eyes, under their long, drooping lashes, were fairly scintillating with the anticipation of coming fun.
“Do they use bells or knockers on their doors, around here?” she carelessly asked, as she flitted about.
“Some use one, some the other. There is a large brass knocker on this door. I am sure you must have seen it.”
“I had forgotten. This is my trunk, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”