to go out just to look at the old house by night? Oh, no. Not a bit.
There were goloshes in the hall. And they went, the girl leading, and
talking of Anna knew not what, so absorbed was she in thinking how for a
moment, just a moment, she could contrive to be with the boy alone.

It was not remarkable, this old house, but it was his home--might some
day perhaps be his. And houses at night were strangely alive with their
window eyes.

"That is my room," the girl said, "where the jessamine is--you can just
see it. Mark's is above--look, under where the eave hangs out, away to
the left. The other night--"

"Yes; the other night?"

"Oh, I don't--! Listen. That's an owl. We have heaps of owls. Mark likes
them. I don't, much."

Always Mark!

"He's awfully keen, you see, about all beasts and birds--he models them.
Shall I show you his workshop?--it's an old greenhouse. Here, you can
see in."

There through the glass Anna indeed could just see the boy's quaint
creations huddling in the dark on a bare floor, a grotesque company of
small monsters. She murmured:

"Yes, I see them, but I won't really look unless he brings me himself."