Page:The Star in the Window.pdf/83



T was five o'clock on a Saturday afternoon in late March. In a certain little oblong room, so narrow that the bed could be placed only horizontal to the long dimension, beside a window that looked out over a range of roofs, and a forest of chimneys, water-tanks, sky-lights and escape-pipes of one kind or another, Rebecca Jerome sat on the edge of a straight-backed bedroom chair, and sewed—nervously, eagerly, glancing out at the great face of a clock on a building opposite, every now and then, and making her stitches longer and bolder as the time gained on her.

She was shortening her white muslin dress. Mamie Blake, who roomed next door, had told her the evening before, when she had tried the dress on in preparation for Saturday's entertainment, that the length was what ailed it most; and Mamie had pinned up five inches of it in two deep tucks, above the flounce of ruffles. Reba hadn't had a chance to finish the alteration until after lunch to-day. Her gymnasium class met Friday evenings, and Saturday mornings her course in domestic science kept her busy until twelve; and always the noon-hour was claimed by instruction in modern dancing—especially essential to-day, Reba felt, in view of the nature of the evening's entertainment.

Reba's heart hammered at the thought of that entertainment, so close at hand now. She had been away from Ridgefield only a little over seven weeks, and