"But I don't! We looked for it all the way to school that last day. I thought likely that I had dropped it on the step of the old cabin—the haunted house, you know. I sat down there the day before to look at the report, and staid there ever so long. When I saw what was in it I just hated to bring it home. I didn't think how late it was, until Mrs. Fogg—the old Mrs. Fogg—came round the corner of the house and scared me. I scared her too"—laughing nervously at the recollection; "and although I was sure that I had put the paper back into my geography, it wasn't there when I got home. We hunted all about the door-step—Dee and I—next morning, but couldn't find it. We supposed the wind must have blown it away, if I dropped it there."
Her father drew up a chair and sat down beside her, a little back of her, so she could not study his face. He tried to speak carelessly.
"What was Mrs. Fogg doing there at that time of day?"
"I don't know, I am sure. She is a funny old woman, always turning up just where you wouldn't expect to see her."
"Did she go into the house?"
"Why, no, sir. It's nailed up, I think—windows and doors too. She said that she mistook me for a ghost—h'ant,' she called it. Father!"
She had his hand again, and again raised it to her cheek. Her voice was tremulous.
"Well?" watching her out of the corners of his eyes.
"I did something wrong and foolish that day. I told her once that I'd ask Major Duncombe to let her grandchildren go to school. I was sorry for the little fellows. I told her that day that she'd better send them to the Old Harry than to Mr. Tayloe. You see, I was as mad as fire about my report."
"And then?"