particular date, February 25, as the date by which the medium would have returned, and some sort of further effort was going to be made; but he did not attempt to explain this, nor did Maggie understand it. It only seemed to her rather sinister and unpleasant.
She turned over the page, and there was the address he had mentioned—a Mr. Cathcart. Surely he did not expect her to write to this stranger. …
She walked up and down with her spud for another half-hour before she could come to any conclusion. Certainly she agreed with Mr. James Morton that the whole thing was nonsense; yet, further, that this nonsense was capable of doing a good deal of harm to an excitable person. Besides, Laurie obviously had a bad conscience about it, or he would have mentioned it.
She caught sight of Mrs. Baxter presently through the thick hedge, walking with her dainty, dignified step along the paths of the kitchen garden; and a certain impatience seized her at the sight. This boy’s mother was so annoyingly serene. Surely it was her business, rather than Maggie’s own, to look after Laurie; yet the girl knew perfectly well that if Laurie was left to his mother nothing at all would be done. Mrs. Baxter would deplore it all, of course, gently and tranquilly, in Laurie’s absence, and would, perhaps, if she were hard pressed, utter a feeble protest even in his presence; and that was absolutely all. …
“Maggie! Maggie!” came the gentle old voice, calling presently; and then to some unseen person, “Have you seen Miss Deronnais anywhere?”
Maggie put the letter in her pocket and hurried through from the orchard.
“Yes?” she said, with a half hope.
“Come in, my dear, and tell me what you think of those new teacups in the Bon Marché catalogue,” said the old lady. “There seem some