CHAPTER XX 



effie's business (continued) 



Towards midnight Miss Grimshaw was awakened 

 from her slumbers by a sound as of some person 

 weeping and waihng. She sat up in bed and 

 Hstened. It was Effie's voice, and she heard her 

 own name called repeatedly. 



" Miss Grimshaw — Miss Grimshaw — Miss Grim- 

 shaw! " 



In a moment she was out of bed and wrapped 

 in a dressing-gown. The next, she was in Effie's 

 room. 



The child was sitting up in bed in the moon- 

 light. Her subliminal mind had constructed a 

 nightmare out of a gallows, a guilty conscience 

 and a stolen postage stamp. 



" I took it out of the dra^wer of the writing-desk. 

 I didn't mean it — I did it for fun," cried Effie, 

 her face buried in the girl's shoulder. " And I 

 dreamt — ow! ow! " 



^' What on earth's the matter? " 



It was Mr French, in a dressing-gown, with a 

 hghted candle in his hand. 



You cannot weep and wail in a pitch-pine 

 bungalow, resonant as a fiddle, without disturbing 



221 



