Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. Stopping before each door, they took up the plates of the locks, examined the ponderous bolts, and were struck with the utmost astonishment at what they beheld. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. By and by she heard the screen door.
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