Merrimeg looked all around, but she could see nobody. The voices seemed to be coming from the spot where the shoes were standing.
“What if she should be cross to-day?” said the first voice.
“Then she wouldn’t help us, brother,” said the other voice, “and what on earth would we do then?”
“But it’s Sunday,” said the first voice, “and they aren’t cross on Sunday, hardly ever.”
“That’s so, brother, that’s so,” said the other voice. “You do think of everything.”
“How would it do to knock?” said the first voice.
“I was just thinking about that myself,” said the other voice.
Merrimeg was listening with both ears, and she heard, as plain as could be, three knocks on the front door; but what it was that was knocking at the door, she couldn’t see. All that she could see was that two pairs of wooden shoes moved up onto the doorstep, and stood there.
While she was wondering about it the knock sounded again, and without stopping to think any more she jumped up and ran to the door and opened it, not very wide, and looked down at the shoes.
“It’s herself, brother Nibby,” said a voice in the doorway.