CHAPTER III
THE GATE OPENS
For the two ensuing days, Marcia and Janet, tense with excitement,discussed the most recently discovered inmate of "Benedict's Folly," andwatched incessantly for another glimpse of the face behind the shutter.How was it, they constantly demanded of each other, that a girl offourteen or fifteen had come to be shut up in the dreary old place? Wasshe a prisoner there? Was she a relative, friend, or servant? Was shefree to come and go?
To the latter question they unanimously voted "No!" How could she beaught else but a prisoner when she was never seen going in or out, wasforced to take her exercise after nightfall in the dark garden, and waskept constantly behind closed shutters? No girl of that age in herright mind could deliberately _choose_ a life like that!
"Do you suppose she has always lived there?" queried Marcia, for thetwentieth time. And as Janet could answer it no better than herself, shepropounded another question:
"And why do you suppose she opened the shutter and looked out, seemingso delighted, when I played, and then drew in again so quickly when wenoticed her? Is _she_ afraid of being seen, too?"
"Evidently," said Janet. "She must be as full of mystery as the rest ofthem. And yet--I _can't_, somehow, feel that she _is_ like them; she'sso sweet and young and--oh, _you_ know what I mean!"
Of course she knew, but it didn't help them in the least to solve thislatest phase of their mystery. Finally Marcia, who still clung a bitshyly to the fairy lore of her earlier years, declared:
"I believe she's a regular _Cinderella_, kept there to do all the hardwork of the place by those queer old ladies, and I shouldn't be a bitsurprised if she's down in the kitchen this minute, cleaning out theashes of the stove! Come, Jan, let's go for a walk, and when we comeback I'll play on the violin by the window. Maybe our little_Cinderella_ will peep out again!"
The two girls put on their hats and strolled out for their usualafternoon walk and treat of ice-cream soda. But they had gone no fartherfrom their own door than the length of the Benedict brick wall when theywere suddenly brought to a halt in front of the closed gate by hearing asound on the other side of it. It was a sound indicative of some one'sstruggling attempt to open it--the click of a key turning and turning inthe lock and the futile rattling of the iron knob. And then the sound ofa voice murmuring:
"Oh, dear! What _shall_ I do? I can't get this open!"
"Janet," whispered Marcia, "that's _not_ the voice of Miss Benedict! I_know_ it! I believe it's _Cinderella_, and she's trying to run away!What shall we do--stay here?"
"No," Janet whispered back. "Let's just stroll on a little way, and thenturn back. We can see what happens then without seeming to be watching."
They walked on quickly for a number of yards, and then turned toapproach the gate again. Even as they did so they saw it open, and outstepped a little figure.
It was not Miss Benedict! The slim, trim little girlish form was clad inplain dark clothes of a slightly unfamiliar cut. But the face was theone that had appeared in the upper window, and the thick golden curlswere surmounted by a black velvet tam-o'-shanter. On her arm she carrieda small market-basket, and her eyes had a bewildered, almost frightened,look.
In their excited interest Marcia and Janet had, quite unconsciously,stopped short where they were and waited to see which way their_Cinderella_ would turn. But though they stood so for an appreciablemoment, she turned neither way, and only stood, her back to the gate,gazing uncertainly to the right and left. And then, perceiving them, sheseemed to take a sudden resolution, and turned to them appealingly.
"Oh, please, _could_ you direct me how to find this?" she asked, holdingout a slip of paper. Marcia hurried to her side and read the writtenaddress. And when she had read it, she realized that it was the littlegrocery-shop on the other side of town where she had once encounteredMiss Benedict.
"Why, certainly!" she cried. "You walk over five blocks in thatdirection, then turn to your left and down three. You can't miss it;it's right next to a shoemaker's place."
The child looked more bewildered than ever, and her eyes strayed to thebusy street-crossing near which they stood, crowded with hurrying trucksand automobiles.
"Thank you!" she faltered. "Do I go this way?" And then, with suddencandor, "You see, I'm strange in these streets." Her voice was clear andpretty, but her accent markedly un-American. Both girls halfconsciously noted it.
"See here," said Marcia; "would you care to have us take you there?We're not going in any special direction, and I've been there before."
An infinitely relieved expression came over the girl's face. "Oh,_would_ you be so kind? I'm just--just scared to death on thesestreets!"
They turned to accompany her, one on each side, and piloted her safelyacross the busy avenue. Then, in the quiet stretch of the next block,they proceeded together in complete and embarrassing silence.
It was a silence that Marcia and Janet had fully expected theircompanion to break--possibly to reveal some reason for her errand andher strangeness in the streets. They themselves hesitated to say much,for fear of seeming curious or anxious to force her confidence. But shesaid not a word. The strain at last became too much for Janet.
"I don't blame you for feeling nervous in these city streets," shebegan. "I'm a country girl myself, and I act like a scared rabbitwhenever I go out alone here." The girl turned to her with a littleconfiding gesture.
"I've never been out in them alone before," she said. Then there wasanother silence during which Marcia and Janet both searched franticallyin their minds for something else to say. But it was the girl herselfwho broke the silence the second time.
"Thank you for your music the other day," she said, turning to Marcia."I heard you. I often hear you and listen."
"Oh, I'm so glad you liked it!" cried Marcia. "Do you care for music?"
"I adore it," she replied simply.
"Look here!" exclaimed Marcia, suddenly; "how did you know it was I thatplayed the violin?"
"Because I've watched you often--through the slats!"
Marcia and Janet exchanged glances. So the watching was not all on_their_ side of the fence! Here was a revelation!
"That last thing you played the other day--will you--will you tell mewhat it was?" went on their new companion, shyly.
"Why, that was Schumann's 'Traeumerei,'" answered Marcia. "I love it,don't you?"
"Yes but I never heard it before; that is, I never _remember_ hearingit, and yet--somehow I seemed to _know_ it. I can't think why. I don'tunderstand. It's as if I'd _dreamed_ it, I think."
Marcia and Janet again exchanged glances. What a strange child this was,who talked of having "dreamed" music that was quite familiar to almostevery one.
"Perhaps you heard it at a concert," suggested Janet.
"I never went to a concert," she replied, much to their amazement. Andthen, perceiving their surprise, she added:
"You see, I've always lived 'way off in the country, in just a littlevillage--till now."
"Oh--yes," answered Janet, pretending enlightenment, though in truth sheand Marcia were more bewildered than ever.
But by this time they had reached the little grocery-shop, and allproceeded inside while their new friend made her purchases. These sheread off slowly from a slip of paper, and the grocer packed them in herbasket. But when it came to paying for them and making change, shebecame entangled in a fresh puzzle.
"I think you said these eggs were a shilling?" she ventured to thegrocer.
"Shilling--no! I said they were a quarter," he retorted impatiently.
"A quarter?" she queried, and turned questioning eyes to her twofriends.
"He means this," said Marcia, picking out a twenty-five-cent piece fromthe change the girl held.
"Oh, thank you! I don't understand this American money," she explained.And Marcia and Janet added another query to their rapidly growing mentallist.
On the way back home, however, she grew silent again, and though thegirls chatted back and forth
about quite impersonal matters,--thecrowded streets, the warm weather, the sights they passed,--she was notto be drawn into the conversation. And the nearer they drew to theirdestination, the more depressed she appeared to become. At last theyreached the gate.
"Shall you be going out again to-morrow?" ventured Marcia. "If so, wewill go with you, if you care to have us, till you get used to thestreets."
The girl gave her a sudden, pleased glance. "I--I don't know," she said."You see, Miss Benedict hurt her ankle a day or two ago, and she can'tget around much, so--so I'm doing this for her. If she wants me to goto-morrow, I will. I'd be _so_ glad to go with you. How shall I let youknow?"
"Just hang a white handkerchief to your shutter before you go, and we'llsee it. We'll watch for it!" cried Marcia, inventing the signal on thespur of the moment. And then, impetuously, she added:
"My name is Marcia Brett, and this is Janet McNeil. Won't you tell usyours, if we're to be friends?"
"I'm Cecily Marlowe," she answered, "and I'm _so_ glad to know you." Asshe spoke she was fumbling with the big key in the lock of the gate, andas the latter swung open, she turned once more to face them, with alittle pent-up sob: "I don't know why I'm here--and I'm _so_ lonely!"Then, frightened at having revealed so much, she turned quickly away andshut the gate.
As they listened to her footsteps retreating up the path and the closingof the front door Marcia and Janet turned to each other, a thousandquestions burning on their tongues. But all they could exclaim in onebreath was:
"Did you _ever_!"