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Letitia nodded in the dark.

“That is the way here,” said she.

“And Mr. Cephas Holbrook has just the name that my great-great-great-uncle on my mother’s side had,” said the boy, in a whisper so puzzled that it was fairly agonized. “Grandmother has told me about him. He had a battle with six Injuns and killed them all himself, and this Mr. Cephas Holbrook has done just that same thing. And he killed ten wolves and nailed their heads to the meeting-house. Say,” the boy continued confidentially, “those were the heads I meant, you know.”

“Of course I know,” whispered Letitia. “I wouldn’t speak to you if you had done such awful things.”

“I didn’t, honestly,” said Josephus Peabody. “Where did you come from to-night?” asked Letitia.

“Why, I came from Mr. Cephas Holbrook’s. It’s about ten miles away on that side.” The boy pointed in the dark.

“You came all that way?”

“I had to if I came at all. I don’t get any time to see my traps day-times. I have to work. I have to chop wood, and make wooden pegs. I never saw wooden pegs, till–till I came here. I have to work all day. Eliphalet Holbrook, he’s a boy about my size, got out of the window one night, when it was moonlight, and we set traps, and we haven’t either of us had a chance to look at them and see if we’ve caught anything; but to-night, I had a cold and they sent me to bed early and I whispered to Eliphalet, that I’d see those traps; and I had a pine knot, and I run and run, but I couldn’t find the traps.”

“You didn’t run ten miles?”

“No, the traps were set only about three miles from where we live and I rather think I lost my way. Then I heard the Injuns–say, I used to call them Indians.”

“So did I,” said Letitia.

“They say Injuns here. Then I heard them, and I run the rest of the way, and then I saw your light. Are you one of Captain John Hopkins’ children?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I am,” replied Letitia miserably.

“What is your name?”

“Letitia Hopkins.”

“Then you must be.”

“I don’t believe I am.”

Suddenly Letitia felt a hard little boy-hand clutch hers in the dark. The boy’s voice whispered forcibly in her ear. “Say,” said the voice, “did you–did you get here, I wonder, in some queer way just as I did?”

Letitia whispered forcibly, “Through a little green door in my Great-aunt Peggy’s cheese-room.”

“Had she told you never to open it?”

“Yes, but she and Hannah left me alone when they went to meeting and I found the key in a little box, and the key had a green ribbon and it unlocked the door, and I was in the woods around here, and Aunt Peggy’s house was gone and everything.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know. It must have been a long time, for I have done so much work, and learned to do so much that I had started with all done.”

“It is just the same with me,” whispered the boy.

Letitia shivered, half with joy, half with horror. “Did you come through a little green door?”

“No, I came through a book.”

Letitia jumped. “A book!” she repeated feebly.

“Yes, it was a book. I didn’t know it at first. I thought it was just a wooden box up in Grandmother Peabody’s garret, and it was always locked, and Grandmother Peabody said I was never to ask any questions about it, and never to try to open it. I expect she was afraid I might try to pick the lock. Then I began to suspect that it was a book, and then I found the key. I stayed at home from meeting just like you, and I had a cold. My father had died, and I had come to live with Grandmother Peabody.”

“I remember now Aunt Peggy told Hannah about it,” whispered Letitia with sudden remembrance.