Thurley turned, throwing back her head in defiance and calling out, “Lock your doors, if you don’t want company,” making a hasty retreat at the same time.
Racing down the path, Thurley came into collision with Ali Baba, who was on his way to hitch Melba to the coupé.
“For cat’s sake, where do you come from?” he demanded, holding Thurley by her arm.
Thurley, making sure the door of the house had closed and the little old lady vanished, whispered, “I thought I’d have a look, so I went inside and some one came down the stairs and said, ‘Ali Baba, it isn’t four o’clock!’—and when she saw me, she was cross.”
Ali Baba dropped her arm. “Have you been inside that house?”
Thurley nodded. “Just in the hallway—she found me there.”
“Land sakes and Mrs. Davis,” Ali Baba said, smiling in spite of himself. “I guess you’ve done what no other kid in the Corners has ever dared to try. But don’t do it again—children should not be seen nor heard, according to Miss Abby,” and he brushed by her on his way to the barn.
Thurley was not satisfied with this answer. She went back to the Corners to find Philena’s pale face pressed against the window glass watching for her missionary partner’s tardy appearance.
“Philena, I have been in a funny brick house at the lake,” Thurley said, “and I want your granny to tell me why it is so queer—and who that old woman is, and who is Ali Baba and why can’t any one ever go there?”