"
We followed cautiously, and at the gate caught another glimpse of the
mysterious pedestrian some distance down the road. We were quite sure
now that it was a woman. We kept her in sight as far as the schoolhouse;
there she opened the door--the schoolhouse was rarely locked by night or
day--and disappeared inside.
Opposite the schoolhouse was a little copse of chokecherry bushes, and
we stepped in among them to watch. Some moments passed. Twice we heard
slight sounds inside. Then the dim figure in long clothes came slowly
out and returned up the road toward the old Squire's.
"Who was it?" Addison said to me.
"Miss Emmons," I replied.
"Yes," Addison assented reluctantly.
We went into the schoolhouse, struck matches, and at last lighted a pine
splint. The drawer to the teacher's desk was locked, but it was a worn
old lock, and by inserting the little blade of his knife Addison at last
pushed the bolt back.
Inside were the teacher's books and records. A Fifth Reader that we took
up opened readily to Jim Doane's bank book.
"She brought that here to hide it!" I exclaimed.
Addison did not reply for a moment. "Perhaps she did," he admitted.
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