"It is all so open here!" said Elizabeth one day.
"What do you mean, my dear?" asked Mrs. Loring, who was sewing by the table, while Patsy arranged her paper dolls. It was a rainy afternoon, and therefore the dolls were in demand.
"Oh, you have no shut-up rooms and secrets. Our house is full of skeletons. It is hateful."
"E-liz-a-beth!" exclaimed Patsy. "What in the world do you mean?"
"Well, how would you like to have a room in the house with a padlock on it that you never could go into, and have Aunt Caroline hush you up every time you asked about it? I have been there, though," and she nodded her head mysteriously.
Patsy left her paper dolls and drew nearer.
"Have you really? Do tell me about it," she said, while Mrs. Loring listened attentively.
"I stole the key and went in. Of course I ought not to have done it, but it was a whole year ago, and I was such a little thing I didn't know any better. I was only eleven then, you know. I went a good many times, until Aunt Caroline found me out. It is such a pretty room. If I only knew whom it belonged to! Mrs. Loring, I wonder if you know?" turning suddenly to Patsy's mother. "You look just as Aunt Caroline does when I speak of that room. What is there about that room that makes every one look so queer?"
"Why should you think that I know anything about it?" asked Mrs. Loring, recovering herself.
"Because I think Aunt Caroline used to know you, for she was so excited—at least, she didn't seem to like—well, please excuse me for saying it, but Aunt Caroline was so surprised to hear I knew Patsy, and at first she said— I don't believe I can tell you."