IN THE CLOSED ROOM

by

FRANCES HODGSON BURNETTAuthor of Little Lord Fauntleroy and The Little Princess

Illustrations by

Jessie Willcox Smith

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

The playing today was even a lovelier, happier thing than it hadever been before . . . . Frontispiece

She often sat curving her small long fingers backward

They gazed as if they had known each other for ages of years

"Come and play with me"

She must go and stand at the door and press her cheek against thewood and wait--and listen

She began to mount the stairs which led to the upper floors

The ledge of the window was so low that a mere step took heroutside

"I'm going up to play with the little girl, mother . . . Youdon't mind, do you?"

PART ONE

In the fierce airless heat of the small square room the childJudith panted as she lay on her bed. Her father and mother sleptnear her, drowned in the heavy slumber of workers after theirday's labour. Some people in the next flat were quarrelling, irritated probably by the appalling heat and their miserablehelplessness against it. All the hot emanations of the sun-bakedcity streets seemed to combine with their clamour and unrest, andrise to the flat in which the child lay gazing at the darkness. It was situated but a few feet from the track of the ElevatedRailroad and existence seemed to pulsate to the rush and roar ofthe demon which swept past the windows every few minutes. No oneknew that Judith held the thing in horror, but it was a truththat she did. She was only seven years old, and at that age it isnot easy to explain one's self so that older people canunderstand. 

She could only have said, "I hate it. It comes so fast. It isalways coming. It makes a sound as if thunder was quite close. Ican never get away from it. " The children in the other flatsrather liked it. They hung out of the window perilously to watchit thunder past and to see the people who crowded it pressedclose together in the seats, standing in the aisles, hanging onto the straps. Sometimes in the evening there were people in itwho were going to the theatre, and the women and girls weredressed in light colours and wore hats covered with whitefeathers and flowers. At such times the children were delighted, and Judith used to hear the three in the next flat calling out toeach other, "That's MY lady! That's MY lady! That one's mine!"

Judith was not like the children in the other flats. She was afrail, curious creature, with silent ways and a soft voice andeyes. She liked to play by herself in a corner of the room and totalk to herself as she played. No one knew what she talked about, and in fact no one inquired. Her mother was always too busy. Whenshe was not making men's coats by the score at the whizzingsewing machine, she was hurriedly preparing a meal which wasalways in danger of being late. There was the breakfast, whichmight not be ready in time for her husband to reach his "shop"when the whistle blew; there was the supper, which might not bein time to be in waiting for him when he returned in the evening. The midday meal was a trifling matter, needing no specialpreparation. One ate anything one could find left from supper orbreakfast. 

Judith's relation to her father and mother was not a veryintimate one. They were too hard worked to have time for domesticintimacies, and a feature of their acquaintance was that thoughneither of them was sufficiently articulate to have foundexpression for the fact--the young man and woman felt the childvaguely remote. Their affection for her was tinged with somethingindefinitely like reverence. She had been a lovely baby with apeculiar magnolia whiteness of skin and very large, sweetlysmiling eyes of dark blue, fringed with quite black lashes. Shehad exquisite pointed fingers and slender feet, and though Mr. And Mrs. Foster were--perhaps fortunately--unaware of it, she hadbeen not at all the baby one would have expected to come to lifein a corner of the hive of a workman's flat a few feet from theElevated Railroad. 

"Seems sometimes as if somehow she couldn't be mine, " Mrs. Fostersaid at times. "She ain't like me, an' she ain't like Jem Foster, Lord knows. She ain't like none of either of our families I'veever heard of--'ceptin' it might be her Aunt Hester--but SHE diedlong before I was born. I've only heard mother tell about her. She was a awful pretty girl. Mother said she had that kind oflily-white complexion and long slender fingers that was so suppleshe could curl 'em back like they was double-jointed. Her eyeswas big and had eyelashes that stood out round 'em, but they wasbrown. Mother said she wasn't like any other kind of girl, andshe thinks Judith may turn out like her. She wasn't but fifteenwhen she died. She never was ill in her life--but one morning shedidn't come down to breakfast, and when they went up to call her, there she was sittin' at her window restin' her chin on her hand, with her face turned up smilin' as if she was talkin' to someone. The doctor said it had happened hours before, when she hadcome to the window to look at the stars. Easy way to go, wasn'tit?"

Judith had heard of her Aunt Hester, but she only knew that sheherself had hands like her and that her life had ended when shewas quite young. Mrs. Foster was too much occupied by thestrenuousness of life to dwell upon the passing of souls. To herthe girl Hester seemed too remote to appear quite real. Thelegends of her beauty and unlikeness to other girls seemed ratherlike a sort of romance. 

As she was not aware that Judith hated the Elevated Railroad, soshe was not aware that she was fond of the far away Aunt Hesterwith the long-pointed fingers which could curl backwards. She didnot know that when she was playing in her corner of the room, where it was her way to sit on her little chair with her faceturned towards the wall, she often sat curving her small longfingers backward and talking to herself about Aunt Hester. Butthis--as well as many other things--was true. It was notsecretiveness which caused the child to refrain from speaking ofcertain things. She herself could not have explained the reasonsfor her silence; also it had never occurred to her thatexplanation and reasons were necessary. Her mental attitude wasthat of a child who, knowing a certain language, does not speakit to those who have never heard and are wholly ignorant of it. She knew her Aunt Hester as her mother did not. She had seen heroften in her dreams and had a secret fancy that she could dreamof her when she wished to do so. She was very fond of dreaming ofher. The places where she came upon Aunt Hester were strange andlovely places where the air one breathed smelled like flowers andeverything was lovely in a new way, and when one moved one feltso light that movement was delightful, and when one wakened onehad not quite got over the lightness and for a few moments feltas if one would float out of bed. 

The healthy, vigourous young couple who were the child's parentswere in a healthy, earthly way very fond of each other. They hadmade a genuine love match and had found it satisfactory. Theyoung mechanic Jem Foster had met the young shop-girl Jane Hardy, at Coney Island one summer night and had become at once enamouredof her shop-girl good looks and high spirits. They had married assoon as Jem had had the "raise" he was anticipating and had fromthat time lived with much harmony in the flat building by whichthe Elevated train rushed and roared every few minutes throughthe day and a greater part of the night. They themselves did notobject to the "Elevated"; Jem was habituated to uproar in themachine shop, in which he spent his days, and Jane was too muchabsorbed in the making of men's coats by the dozens to observeanything else. The pair had healthy appetites and slept wellafter their day's work, hearty supper, long cheerful talk, andloud laughter over simple common joking. 

"She's a queer little fish, Judy, " Jane said to her husband asthey sat by the open window one night, Jem's arm curvedcomfortably around the young woman's waist as he smoked his pipe. "What do you think she says to me to-night after I put her tobed?"

"Search ME!" said Jem oracularly. 

Jane laughed. 

"'Why, ' she says, 'I wish the Elevated train would stop. '

"'Why?' says I. 

"'I want to go to sleep, ' says she. 'I'm going to dream of AuntHester. '"

"What does she know about her Aunt Hester, " said Jem. "Who's beentalkin' to her?"

"Not me, " Jane said. "She don't know nothing but what she'spicked up by chance. I don't believe in talkin' to young onesabout dead folks. 'Tain't healthy. "

"That's right, " said Jem. "Children that's got to hustle aboutamong live folks for a livin' best keep their minds out ofcemeteries. But, Hully Gee, what a queer thing for a young one tosay. "

"And that ain't all, " Jane went on, her giggle half amused, halfnervous. "'But I don't fall asleep when I see Aunt Hester, ' saysshe. 'I fall awake. It's more awake there than here. '

"'Where?' says I, laughing a bit, though it did make me feelqueer. 

"'I don't know' she says in that soft little quiet way of hers. 'There. ' And not another thing could I get out of her. "

On the hot night through whose first hours Judith lay panting inher corner of the room, tormented and kept awake by the constantroar and rush and flash of lights, she was trying to go to sleepin the hope of leaving all the heat and noise and discomfortbehind, and reaching Aunt Hester. If she could fall awake shewould feel and hear none of it. It would all be unreal and shewould know that only the lightness and the air like flowers andthe lovely brightness were true. Once, as she tossed on hercot-bed, she broke into a low little laugh to think how untruethings really were and how strange it was that people did notunderstand--that even she felt as she lay in the darkness thatshe could not get away. And she could not get away unless thetrain would stop just long enough to let her fall asleep. If shecould fall asleep between the trains, she would not awaken. Butthey came so quickly one after the other. Her hair was damp asshe pushed it from her forehead, the bed felt hot against herskin, the people in the next flat quarreled more angrily, Judithheard a loud slap, and then the woman began to cry. She was ayoung married woman, scarcely more than a girl. Her marriage hadnot been as successful as that of Judith's parents. Both husbandand wife had irritable tempers. Through the thin wall Judithcould hear the girl sobbing angrily as the man flung himself outof bed, put on his clothes and went out, banging the door afterhim. 

"She doesn't know, " the child whispered eerily, "that it isn'treal at all. "

There was in her strange little soul a secret no one knew theexistence of. It was a vague belief that she herself was notquite real--or that she did not belong to the life she had beenborn into. Her mother and father loved her and she loved them, but sometimes she was on the brink of telling them that she couldnot stay long--that some mistake had been made. What mistake--orwhere was she to go to if she went, she did not know. She used tocatch her breath and stop herself and feel frightened when shehad been near speaking of this fantastic thing. But the buildingfull of workmen's flats, the hot room, the Elevated Railroad, thequarrelling people, were all a mistake. Just once or twice in herlife she had seen places and things which did not seem soforeign. Once, when she had been taken to the Park in the Spring, she had wandered away from her mother to a sequestered placeamong shrubs and trees, all waving tender, new pale green, withthe leaves a few early hot days had caused to rush out andtremble unfurled. There had been a stillness there and scents andcolours she knew. A bird had come and swung upon a twig quitenear her and, looking at her with bright soft full eyes, had sunggently to her, as if he were speaking. A squirrel had crept uponto her lap and had not moved when she stroked it. Its eyes hadbeen full and soft also, and she knew it understood that shecould not hurt it. There was no mistake in her being among thenew fair greenness, and the woodland things who spoke to her. They did not use words, but no words were needed. She knew whatthey were saying. When she had pushed her way through thegreenness of the shrubbery to the driveway she had found herselfquite near to an open carriage, which had stopped because thelady who sat in it was speaking to a friend on the path. She wasa young woman, dressed in delicate spring colours, and the littlegirl at her side was dressed in white cloth, and it was at thelittle girl Judith found herself gazing. Under her large whitehat and feathers her little face seemed like a white flower. Shehad a deep dimple near her mouth. Her hair was a rich coppery redand hung heavy and long about her cheeks and shoulders. Shelifted her head a little when the child in the common hat andfrock pressed through the greenness of the bushes and she lookedat Judith just as the bird and the squirrel had looked at her. They gazed as if they had known each other for ages of years andwere separated by nothing. Each of them was quite happy at beingnear the other, and there was not in the mind of either anyquestion of their not being near each other again. The questiondid not rise in Judith's mind even when in a very few minutes thecarriage moved away and was lost in the crowd of equipagesrolling by. 

At the hottest hours of the hot night Judith recalled to herselfthe cool of that day. She brought back the fresh pale greennessof the nook among the bushes into which she had forced her way, the scent of the leaves and grass which she had drawn in as shebreathed, the nearness in the eyes of the bird, the squirrel, andthe child. She smiled as she thought of these things, and as shecontinued to remember yet other things, bit by bit, she felt lesshot--she gradually forgot to listen for the roar of thetrain--she smiled still more--she lay quite still--she wascool--a tiny fresh breeze fluttered through the window and playedabout her forehead. She was smiling in soft delight as hereyelids drooped and closed. 

"I am falling awake, " she was murmuring as her lashes touched hercheek. 

Perhaps when her eyes closed the sultriness of the night hadchanged to the momentary freshness of the turning dawn, and thenext hour or so was really cooler. She knew no more heat butslept softly, deeply, long--or it seemed to her afterwards thatshe had slept long--as if she had drifted far away in dreamlesspeace. 

She remembered no dream, saw nothing, felt nothing until, as itseemed to her, in the early morning, she opened her eyes. All wasquite still and clear--the air of the room was pure and sweet. There was no sound anywhere and, curiously enough, she was notsurprised by this, nor did she expect to hear anything disturbing. 

She did not look round the room. Her eyes remained resting uponwhat she first saw--and she was not surprised by this either. Alittle girl about her own age was standing smiling at her. Shehad large eyes, a deep dimple near her mouth, and coppery redhair which fell about her cheeks and shoulders. Judith knew herand smiled back at her. 

She lifted her hand--and it was a pure white little hand withlong tapering fingers. 

"Come and play with me, " she said--though Judith heard no voicewhile she knew what she was saying. "Come and play with me. "

Then she was gone, and in a few seconds Judith was awake, the airof the room had changed, the noise and clatter of the streetscame in at the window, and the Elevated train went thundering by. Judith did not ask herself how the child had gone or how she hadcome. She lay still, feeling undisturbed by everything andsmiling as she had smiled in her sleep. 

While she sat at the breakfast table she saw her mother lookingat her curiously. 

"You look as if you'd slept cool instead of hot last night, " shesaid. "You look better than you did yesterday. You're prettywell, ain't you, Judy?"

Judith's smile meant that she was quite well, but she saidnothing about her sleeping. 

The heat did not disturb her through the day, though the hoursgrew hotter and hotter as they passed. Jane Foster, sweltering ather machine, was obliged to stop every few minutes to wipe thebeads from her face and neck. Sometimes she could not remainseated, but got up panting to drink water and fan herself with anewspaper. 

"I can't stand much more of this, " she kept saying. "If theredon't come a thunderstorm to cool things off I don't know whatI'll do. This room's about five hundred. "

But the heat grew greater and the Elevated trains went thunderingby. 

When Jem came home from his work his supper was not ready. Janewas sitting helplessly by the window, almost livid in her pallor. The table was but half spread. 

"Hullo, " said Jem; "it's done you up, ain't it?"

"Well, I guess it has, " good-naturedly, certain of his sympathy. "But I'll get over it presently, and then I can get you a coldbite. I can't stand over the stove and cook. "

"Hully Gee, a cold bite's all a man wants on a night like this. Hot chops'd give him the jim-jams. But I've got good news foryou--it's cheered me up myself. "

Jane lifted her head from the chair back. 

"What is it?"

"Well, it came through my boss. He's always been friendly to me. He asks a question or so every now and then and seems to take aninterest. To-day he was asking me if it wasn't pretty hot andnoisy down here, and after I told him how we stood it, he said hebelieved he could get us a better place to stay in through thesummer. Some one he knows has had illness and trouble in hisfamily and he's obliged to close his house and take his wife awayinto the mountains. They've got a beautiful big house in one ofthem far up streets by the Park and he wants to get caretakers inthat can come well recommended. The boss said he could recommendus fast enough. And there's a big light basement that'll be ascool as the woods. And we can move in to-morrow. And all we'vegot to do is to see that things are safe and live happy. "

"Oh, Jem!" Jane ejaculated. "It sounds too good to be true! Up bythe Park! A big cool place to live!"

"We've none of us ever been in a house the size of it. You knowwhat they look like outside, and they say they're bigger thanthey look. It's your business to go over the rooms every day orso to see nothing's going wrong in them--moths or dirt, Isuppose. It's all left open but just one room they've left lockedand don't want interfered with. I told the boss I thought thebasement would seem like the Waldorf-Astoria to us. I tell you Iwas so glad I scarcely knew what to say. "

Jane drew a long breath. 

"A big house up there, " she said. "And only one closed room init. It's too good to be true!"

"Well, whether it's true or not we'll move out there to-morrow, "Jem answered cheerfully. "To-morrow morning bright and early. Theboss said the sooner the better. "

A large house left deserted by those who have filled its roomswith emotions and life, expresses a silence, a quality all itsown. A house unfurnished and empty seems less impressivelysilent. The fact of its devoidness of sound is upon the wholemore natural. But carpets accustomed to the pressure ofconstantly passing feet, chairs and sofas which have held humanwarmth, draperies used to the touch of hands drawing them asideto let in daylight, pictures which have smiled back at thinkingeyes, mirrors which have reflected faces passing hourly inchanging moods, elate or dark or longing, walls which have echoedback voices--all these things when left alone seem to be held instrange arrest, as if by some spell intensifying the effect ofthe pause in their existence. 

The child Judith felt this deeply throughout the entirety of heryoung being. 

"How STILL it is, " she said to her mother the first time theywent over the place together. 

"Well, it seems still up here--and kind of dead, " Jane Fosterreplied with her habitual sociable half-laugh. "But seems to meit always feels that way in a house people's left. It's cheerfulenough down in that big basement with all the windows open. Wecan sit in that room they've had fixed to play billiards in. Weshan't hurt nothing. We can keep the table and things covered up. Tell you, Judy, this'll be different from last summer. The Parkain't but a few steps away an' we can go and sit there too whenwe feel like it. Talk about the country--I don't want no morecountry than this is. You'll be made over the months we stayhere. "

Judith felt as if this must veritably be a truth. The houses oneither side of the street were closed for the summer. Theiroccupants had gone to the seaside or the mountains and thewindows and doors were boarded up. The street was a quiet one atany time, and wore now the aspect of a street in a city of thedead. The green trees of the Park were to be seen either gentlystirring or motionless in the sun at the side of the avenuecrossing the end of it. The only token of the existence of theElevated Railroad was a remote occasional hum suggestive of theflying past of a giant bee. The thing seemed no longer a roaringdemon, and Judith scarcely recognized that it was still thecentre of the city's rushing, heated life. 

The owners of the house had evidently deserted it suddenly. Thewindows had not been boarded up and the rooms had been left intheir ordinary condition. The furniture was not covered or thehangings swathed. Jem Foster had been told that his wife must putthings in order. 

The house was beautiful and spacious, its decorations andappointments were not mere testimonies to freedom of expenditure, but expressions of a dignified and cultivated thought. Judithfollowed her mother from room to room in one of her singularmoods. The loftiness of the walls, the breadth and space abouther made her, at intervals, draw in her breath with pleasure. Thepictures, the colours, the rich and beautiful textures she sawbrought to her the free--and at the same time soothed--feelingshe remembered as the chief feature of the dreams in which she"fell awake. " But beyond all other things she rejoiced in theheight and space, the sweep of view through one large room intoanother. She continually paused and stood with her face liftedlooking up at the pictured things floating on a ceiling aboveher. Once, when she had stood doing this long enough to forgetherself, she was startled by her mother's laugh, which broke inupon the silence about them with a curiously earthly sound whichwas almost a shock. 

"Wake up, Judy; have you gone off in a dream? You look all thetime as if you was walking in your sleep. "

"It's so high, " said Judy. "Those clouds make it look like the sky. "

"I've got to set these chairs straight, " said Jane. "Looks likethey'd been havin' a concert here. All these chairs together an'that part of the room clear. "

She began to move the chairs and rearrange them, bustling aboutcheerfully and talking the while. Presently she stooped to picksomething up. 

"What's this, " she said, and then uttered a startled exclamation. "Mercy! they felt so kind of clammy they made me jump. They HAVEhad a party. Here's some of the flowers left fallen on thecarpet. "

She held up a cluster of wax-white hyacinths and large heavyrosebuds, faded to discoloration. 

"This has dropped out of some set piece. It felt like cold fleshwhen I first touched it. I don't like a lot of white thingstogether. They look too kind of mournful. Just go and get thewastepaper basket in the library, Judy. We'll carry it around todrop things into. Take that with you. "

Judith carried the flowers into the library and bent to pick upthe basket as she dropped them into it. 

As she raised her head she found her eyes looking directly intoother eyes which gazed at her from the wall. They were smilingfrom the face of a child in a picture. As soon as she saw themJudith drew in her breath and stood still, smiling, too, inresponse. The picture was that of a little girl in a floatingwhite frock. She had a deep dimple at one corner of her mouth, her hanging hair was like burnished copper, she held up a slenderhand with pointed fingers and Judith knew her. Oh! she knew herquite well. She had never felt so near any one else throughouther life. 

"Judy, Judy!" Jane Foster called out. "Come here with yourbasket; what you staying for?"

Judith returned to her. 

"We've got to get a move on, " said Jane, "or we shan't getnothin' done before supper time. What was you lookin' at?"

"There's a picture in there of a little girl I know, " Judithsaid. "I don't know her name, but I saw her in the Park onceand--and I dreamed about her. "

"Dreamed about her? If that ain't queer. Well, we've got to hurryup. Here's some more of them dropped flowers. Give me thebasket. "

They went through the whole house together, from room to room, upthe many stairs, from floor to floor, and everywhere Judith feltthe curious stillness and silence. It can not be doubted thatJane Foster felt it also. 

"It is the stillest house I was ever in, " she said. "I'm gladI've got you with me, Judy. If I was sole alone I believe it 'udgive me the creeps. These big places ought to have big familiesin them. "

It was on the fourth floor that they came upon the Closed Room. Jane had found some of the doors shut and some open, but a turnof the handle gave entrance through all the unopened ones untilthey reached this one at the back on the fourth floor. 

"This one won't open, " Jane said, when she tried the handle. Thenshe shook it once or twice. "No, it's locked, " she decided afteran effort or two. "There, I've just remembered. There's one keptlocked. Folks always has things they want locked up. I'll makesure, though. "

She shook it, turned the handle, shook again, pressed her kneeagainst the panel. The lock resisted all effort. 

"Yes, this is the closed one, " she made up her mind. "It's lockedhard and fast. It's the closed one. "

It was logically proved to be the closed one by the fact that shefound no other one locked as she finished her round of thechambers. 

Judith was a little tired before they had done their work. Buther wandering pilgrimage through the large, silent, desertedhouse had been a revelation of new emotions to her. She wasalways a silent child. Her mind was so full of strange thoughtsthat it seemed unnecessary to say many words. The things shethought as she followed her from room to room, from floor tofloor, until they reached the locked door, would have amazed andpuzzled Jane Foster if she had known of their existence. Most ofall, perhaps, she would have been puzzled by the effect theclosed door had upon the child. It puzzled and bewildered Judithherself and made her feel a little weary. 

She wanted so much to go into the room. Without in the leastunderstanding the feeling, she was quite shaken by it. It seemedas if the closing of all the other rooms would have been a smallmatter in comparison with the closing of this one. There wassomething inside which she wanted to see--there was something--somehowthere was something which wanted to see her. What a pity that the doorwas locked! Why had it been done? She sighed unconsciously severaltimes during the evening, and Jane Foster thought she was tired. 

"But you'll sleep cool enough to-night, Judy, " she said. "And geta good rest. Them little breezes that comes rustling through thetrees in the Park comes right along the street to us. "

She and Jem Foster slept well. They spent the evening in thehighest spirits and--as it seemed to them--the most luxuriouscomfort. The space afforded them by the big basement, with itskitchen and laundry and pantry, and, above all, the speciallylarge room which had been used for billiard playing, suppliedactual vistas. For the sake of convenience and coolness they usedthe billiard room as a dormitory, sleeping on light cots, andthey slept with all their windows open, the little breezeswandering from among the trees of the Park to fan them. How theylaughed and enjoyed themselves over their supper, and how theystretched themselves out with sighs of joy in the darkness asthey sank into the cool, untroubled waters of deep sleep. 

"This is about the top notch, " Jem murmured as he lost his holdon the world of waking life and work. 

But though she was cool, though she was undisturbed, though herbody rested in absolute repose, Judith did not sleep for a longtime. She lay and listened to the quietness. There was mystery init. The footstep of a belated passer-by in the street wokestrange echoes; a voice heard in the distance in a riotous shoutsuggested weird things. And as she lay and listened, it was as ifshe were not only listening but waiting for something. She didnot know at all what she was waiting for, but waiting she was. 

She lay upon her cot with her arms flung out and her eyes wideopen. What was it that she wanted--that which was in the closedroom? Why had they locked the door? If they had locked the doorsof the big parlours it would not have mattered. If they hadlocked the door of the library--Her mind paused--as if for amoment, something held it still. Then she remembered that to havelocked the doors of the library would have been to lock in thepicture of the child with the greeting look in her eyes and thefine little uplifted hand. She was glad the room had been leftopen. But the room up-stairs--the one on the fourth floor--thatwas the one that mattered most of all. She knew that to-morrowshe must go and stand at the door and press her cheek against thewood and wait--and listen. Thinking this and knowing that it mustbe so, she fell--at last--asleep. 

PART TWO

Judith climbed the basement stairs rather slowly. Her mother wasbusy rearranging the disorder the hastily departing servants hadleft. Their departure had indeed been made in sufficient haste tohave left behind the air of its having been flight. There was agreat deal to be done, and Jane Foster, moving about with broomand pail and scrubbing brushes, did not dislike the excitement ofthe work before her. Judith's certainty that she would not bemissed made all clear before her. If her absence was observed hermother would realize that the whole house lay open to her andthat she was an undisturbing element wheresoever she was ledeither by her fancy or by circumstance. If she went into theparlours she would probably sit and talk to herself or playquietly with her shabby doll. In any case she would be findingpleasure of her own and would touch nothing which could beharmed. 

When the child found herself in the entrance hall she stopped afew moments to look about her. The stillness seemed to hold herand she paused to hear and feel it. In leaving the basementbehind, she had left the movement of living behind also. No onewas alive upon this floor--nor upon the next--nor the next. Itwas as if one had entered a new world--a world in which somethingexisted which did not express itself in sound or in things whichone could see. Chairs held out their arms to emptiness--cushionswere not pressed by living things--only the people in thepictures were looking at something, but one could not tell whatthey were looking at. 

But on the fourth floor was the Closed Room, which she must goto--because she must go to it--that was all she knew. 

She began to mount the stairs which led to the upper floors. Hershabby doll was held against her hip by one arm, her right handtouched the wall as she went, she felt the height of the wall asshe looked upward. It was such a large house and so empty. Wherehad the people gone and why had they left it all at once as ifthey were afraid? Her father had only heard vaguely that they hadgone because they had had trouble. 

She passed the second floor, the third, and climbed towards thefourth. She could see the door of the Closed Room as she went upstep by step, and she found herself moving more quickly. Yes, shemust get to it--she must put her hand on it--her chest began torise and fall with a quickening of her breath, and her breathquickened because her heart fluttered--as if with her haste. Shebegan to be glad, and if any one could have seen her they wouldhave been struck by a curious expectant smile in her eyes. 

She reached the landing and crossed it, running the last fewsteps lightly. She did not wait or stand still a moment. With thestrange expectant smile on her lips as well as in her eyes, sheput her hand upon the door--not upon the handle, but upon thepanel. Without any sound it swung quietly open. And without anysound she stepped quietly inside. 

The room was rather large and the light in it was dim. There wereno shutters, but the blinds were drawn down. Judith went to oneof the windows and drew its blind up so that the look of theplace might be clear to her. There were two windows and theyopened upon the flat roof of an extension, which suggestedsomehow that it had been used as a place to walk about in. This, at least, was what Judith thought of at once--that some one whohad used the room had been in the habit of going out upon theroof and staying there as if it had been a sort of garden. Therewere rows of flower pots with dead flowers in them--there weregreen tubs containing large shrubs, which were dead also--againstthe low parapet certain of them held climbing plants which hadbeen trained upon it. Two had been climbing roses, two wereclematis, but Judith did not know them by name. The ledge of thewindow was so low that a mere step took her outside. So takingit, she stood among the dried, withered things and looked intender regret at them. 

"I wish they were not dead, " she said softly to the silence. "Itwould be like a garden if they were not dead. "

The sun was hot, but a cool, little breeze seemed straying upfrom among the trees of the Park. It even made the dried leavesof the flowers tremble and rustle a little. Involuntarily shelifted her face to the blue sky and floating white clouds. Theyseemed so near that she felt almost as if she could touch themwith her hand. The street seemed so far--so far below--the wholeworld seemed far below. If one stepped off the parapet it wouldsurely take one a long time to reach the earth. She knew now whyshe had come up here. It was so that she might feel like this--asif she was upheld far away from things--as if she had lefteverything behind--almost as if she had fallen awake again. Therewas no perfume in the air, but all was still and sweet and clear. 

Suddenly she turned and went into the room again, realizing thatshe had scarcely seen it at all and that she must see and knowit. It was not like any other room she had seen. It looked moresimple, though it was a pretty place. The walls were covered withroses, there were bright pictures, and shelves full of books. There was also a little writing desk and there were two or threelow chairs, and a low table. A closet in a corner had its doorajar and Judith could see that inside toys were piled together. In another corner a large doll's house stood, looking as if someone had just stopped playing with it. Some toy furniture had beentaken out and left near it upon the carpet. 

"It was a little girl's room, " Judith said. "Why did they closeit?"

Her eye was caught by something lying on a sofa--somethingcovered with a cloth. It looked almost like a child lying thereasleep--so fast asleep that it did not stir at all. Judith movedacross to the sofa and drew the cloth aside. With its head upon acushion was lying there a very large doll, beautifully dressed inwhite lace, its eyes closed, and a little wreath of dead flowersin its hair. 

"It looks almost as if it had died too, " said Judith. 

She did not ask herself why she said "as if it had diedtoo"--perhaps it was because the place was so still--andeverything so far away--that the flowers had died in the strange, little deserted garden on the roof. 

She did not hear any footsteps--in fact, no ghost of a soundstirred the silence as she stood looking at the doll's sleep--butquite quickly she ceased to bend forward, and turned round tolook at something which she knew was near her. There she was--andit was quite natural she should be there--the little girl withthe face like a white flower, with the quantity of burnishedcoppery hair and the smile which deepened the already deep dimplenear her mouth. 

"You have come to play with me, " she said. 

"Yes, " answered Judith. "I wanted to come all night. I could notstay down-stairs. "

"No, " said the child; "you can't stay down-stairs. Lift up thedoll. "

They began to play as if they had spent their lives together. Neither asked the other any questions. Judith had not played withother children, but with this one she played in absolute andlovely delight. The little girl knew where all the toys were, andthere were a great many beautiful ones. She told Judith where tofind them and how to arrange them for their games. She inventedwonderful things to do--things which were so unlike anythingJudith had ever seen or heard or thought of that it was notstrange that she realized afterwards that all her past life andits belongings had been so forgotten as to be wholly blotted outwhile she was in the Closed Room. She did not know her playmate'sname, she did not remember that there were such things as names. Every moment was happiness. Every moment the little girl seemedto grow more beautiful in the flower whiteness of her face andhands and the strange lightness and freedom of her movements. There was an ecstasy in looking at her--in feeling her near. 

Not long before Judith went down-stairs she found herselfstanding with her outside the window in among the witheredflowers. 

"It was my garden, " the little girl said. "It has been so hot andno one has been near to water them, so they could not live. "

She went lightly to one of the brown rose-bushes and put herpointed-fingered little hand quite near it. She did not touch it, but held her hand near--and the leaves began to stir and uncurland become fresh and tender again, and roses were nodding, blooming on the stems. And she went in the same manner to eachflower and plant in turn until all the before dreary littlegarden was bright and full of leaves and flowers. 

"It's Life, " she said to Judith. Judith nodded and smiled back ather, understanding quite well just as she had understood the eyesof the bird who had swung on the twig so near her cheek the dayshe had hidden among the bushes in the Park. 

"Now, you must go, " the little girl said at last. And Judith wentout of the room at once--without waiting or looking back, thoughshe knew the white figure did not stir till she was out of sight. 

It was not until she had reached the second floor that the changecame upon her. It was a great change and a curious one. TheClosed Room became as far away as all other places and things hadseemed when she had stood upon the roof feeling the nearness ofthe blueness and the white clouds--as when she had looked roundand found herself face to face with the child in the Closed Room. She suddenly realized things she had not known before. She knewthat she had heard no voice when the little girl spoke toher--she knew that it had happened, that it was she only who hadlifted the doll--who had taken out the toys--who had arranged thelow table for their feast, putting all the small service uponit--and though they had played with such rapturous enjoyment andhad laughed and feasted--what had they feasted on? That she couldnot recall--and not once had she touched or been touched by thelight hand or white dress--and though they seemed to expresstheir thoughts and intentions freely she had heard no voice atall. She was suddenly bewildered and stood rubbing her hand overher forehead and her eyes--but she was happy--as happy as whenshe had fallen awake in her sleep--and was no more troubled orreally curious than she would have been if she had had the sameexperience every day of her life. 

"Well, you must have been having a good time playing up-stairs, "Jane Foster said when she entered the big kitchen. "This is goingto do you good, Judy. Looks like she'd had a day in the country, don't she, Jem?"

Through the weeks that followed her habit of "playing up-stairs"was accepted as a perfectly natural thing. No questions wereasked and she knew it was not necessary to enter into anyexplanations. 

Every day she went to the door of the Closed Room and, finding itclosed, at a touch of her hand upon the panel it swung softlyopen. There she waited--sometimes for a longer sometimes for ashorter time--and the child with the coppery hair came to her. The world below was gone as soon as she entered the room, andthrough the hours they played together joyously as happy childrenplay. But in their playing it was always Judith who touched thetoys--who held the doll---who set the little table for theirfeast. Once as she went down-stairs she remembered that when shehad that day made a wreath of roses from the roof and had gone toput it on her playmate's head, she had drawn back with deepeneddimple and, holding up her hand, had said, laughing: "No. Do nottouch me. "

But there was no mystery in it after all. Judith knew she shouldpresently understand. 

She was so happy that her happiness lived in her face in a sortof delicate brilliance. Jane Foster observed the change in herwith exceeding comfort, her view being that spacious quarters, fresh air, and sounder sleep had done great things for her. 

"Them big eyes of hers ain't like no other child's eyes I've everseen, " she said to her husband with cheerful self-gratulation. "An' her skin's that fine an' thin an' fair you can jest seethrough it. She always looks to me as if she was made out ofdifferent stuff from me an' you, Jem. I've always said it. "

"She's going to make a corking handsome girl, " responded Jem witha chuckle. 

They had been in the house two months, when one afternoon, as shewas slicing potatoes for supper, Jane looked round to see thechild standing at the kitchen doorway, looking with a puzzledexpression at some wilted flowers she held in her hand. Jane'simpression was that she had been coming into the room and hadstopped suddenly to look at what she held. 

"What've you got there, Judy?" she asked. 

"They're flowers, " said Judith, her eyes still more puzzled. 

"Where'd you get 'em from? I didn't know you'd been out. Ithought you was up-stairs. "

"I was, " said Judith quite simply. "In the Closed Room. "

Jane Foster's knife dropped into her pan with a splash. 

"Well, " she gasped. 

Judith looked at her with quiet eyes. 

"The Closed Room!" Jane cried out. "What are you saying? Youcouldn't get in?"

"Yes, I can. "

Jane was conscious of experiencing a shock. She said afterwardsthat suddenly something gave her the creeps. 

"You couldn't open the door, " she persisted. "I tried it againyesterday as I passed by--turned the handle and gave it a regularshove and it wouldn't give an inch. "

"Yes, " the child answered; "I heard you. We were inside then. "

A few days later, when Jane weepingly related the incident toawe-stricken and sympathizing friends, she described asgraphically as her limited vocabulary would allow her to do so, the look in Judith's face as she came nearer to her. 

"Don't tell me there was nothing happening then, " she said. "Shejust came up to me with them dead flowers in her hand an' a kindof look in her eyes as if she was half sorry for me an' didn'tknow quite why. 

"'The door opens for me, ' she says. 'That's where I play everyday. There's a little girl comes and plays with me. She comes inat the window, I think. She is like the picture in the room wherethe books are. Her hair hangs down and she has a dimple near hermouth. '

"I couldn't never tell any one what I felt like. It was as if I'dgot a queer fright that I didn't understand. 

"'She must have come over the roof from the next house, ' I says. 'They've got an extension too--but I thought the people were goneaway. '

"'There are flowers on our roof, ' she said. 'I got these there. 'And that puzzled look came into her eyes again. 'They werebeautiful when I got them--but as I came down-stairs they died. '

"'Well, of all the queer things, ' I said. She put out her handand touched my arm sort of lovin' an' timid. 

"'I wanted to tell you to-day, mother, ' she said. 'I had to tellyou to-day. You don't mind if I go play with her, do you? Youdon't mind?'

"Perhaps it was because she touched me that queer little lovingway--or was it the way she looked--it seemed like something cameover me an' I just grabbed her an' hugged her up. 

"'No, ' I says. 'So as you come back. So as you come back. '

"And to think!" And Jane rocked herself sobbing. 

A point she dwelt on with many tears was that the child seemed ina wistful mood and remained near her side--bringing her littlechair and sitting by her as she worked, and rising to follow herfrom place to place as she moved from one room to the other. 

"She wasn't never one as kissed you much or hung about like somechildren do--I always used to say she was the least bother of anychild I ever knew. Seemed as if she had company of her own whenshe sat in her little chair in the corner whispering to herselfor just setting quiet. " This was a thing Jane always added duringall the years in which she told the story. "That was what made menotice. She kept by me and she kept looking at me different fromany way I'd seen her look before--not pitiful exactly--butsomething like it. And once she came up and kissed me and once ortwice she just kind of touched my dress or my hand--as I stood byher. SHE knew. No one need tell me she didn't. "

But this was an error. The child was conscious only of a tender, wistful feeling, which caused her to look at the affectionatehealthy young woman who had always been good to her and whom shebelonged to, though she remotely wondered why--the sametenderness impelled her to touch her arm, hand and simple dress, and folding her arms round her neck to kiss her softly. It was anexpression of gratitude for all the rough casual affection of thepast. All her life had been spent at her side--all her life onearth had sprung from her. 

When she went up-stairs to the Closed Room the next day she toldher mother she was going before she left the kitchen. 

"I'm going up to play with the little girl, mother, " she said. "You don't mind, do you?"

Jane had had an evening of comfortable domestic gossip and jokingwith Jem, had slept, slept soundly and eaten a hearty breakfast. Life had reassumed its wholly normal aspect. The sun was shininghot and bright and she was preparing to scrub the kitchen floor. She believed that the child was mistaken as to the room she hadbeen in. 

"That's all right, " she said, turning the hot water spigot overthe sink so that the boiling water poured forth at full flow intoher pail, with clouds of steam. "But when I've done my scrubbingI'm comin' up to see if it IS the Closed Room you play in. If itis, I guess you'd better play somewhere else--and I want to findout how you get that door open. Run along if you like. "

Judith came back to her from the door. "Yes, " she said, "come andsee. But if she is there, " putting her hand on Jane's hip gently, "you mustn't touch her. "

Jane turned off the hot water and stared. 

"Her!"

"The little girl who plays. _I_ never touch her. She says I mustnot. "

Jane lifted her pail from the sink, laughing outright. 

"Well, that sounds as if she was a pretty airy young one, " shesaid. "I guess you're a queer little pair. Run on. I must get atthis floor. "

Judith ran up the three flights of stairs lightly. She was gladshe had told her mother, though she wondered vaguely why it hadnever seemed right to tell her until last night, and last nightit had seemed not so much necessary as imperative. Something hadobliged her to tell her. The time had come when she must know. The Closed Room door had always shut itself gently after Judithhad passed through it, and yesterday, when her mother passing bychance, had tried the handle so vigorously, the two childreninside the room had stood still gazing at each other, but neitherhad spoken and Judith had not thought of speaking. She was out ofthe realm of speech, and without any sense of amazement was awarethat she was out of it. People with voices and words were in thatfaraway world below. 

The playing to-day was even a lovelier, happier thing than it hadever been before. It seemed to become each minute a thing fartherand farther away from the world in the streets where the ElevatedRailroad went humming past like a monster bee. And with the senseof greater distance came a sense of greater lightness andfreedom. Judith found that she was moving about the room and thelittle roof garden almost exactly as she had moved in the wakingdreams where she saw Aunt Hester--almost as if she was floatingand every movement was ecstasy. Once as she thought this shelooked at her playmate, and the child smiled and answered her asshe always did before she spoke. 

"Yes, " she said; "I know her. She will come. She sent me. "

She had this day a special plan with regard to the arranging ofthe Closed Room. She wanted all the things in it--the doll--thechairs--the toys--the little table and its service to be placedin certain positions. She told Judith what to do. Various toyswere put here or there--the little table was set with certaindishes in a particular part of the room. A book was left lyingupon the sofa cushion, the large doll was put into a chair nearthe sofa, with a smaller doll in its arms, on the small writingdesk a letter, which Judith found in a drawer--a half-writtenletter--was laid, the pen was left in the ink. It was a strangegame to play, but somehow Judith felt it was very pretty. When itwas all done--and there were many curious things to do--theClosed Room looked quite different from the cold, dim, orderlyplace the door had first opened upon. Then it had looked as ifeverything had been swept up and set away and covered and donewith forever--as if the life in it had ended and would neverbegin again. Now it looked as if some child who had lived in itand loved and played with each of its belongings, had juststepped out from her play--to some other room quite near--quitenear. The big doll in its chair seemed waiting--even listening toher voice as it came from the room she had run into. 

The child with the burnished hair stood and looked at it with herdelicious smile. 

"That is how it looked, " she said. "They came and hid and coveredeverything--as if I had gone--as if I was Nowhere. I want her toknow I come here. I couldn't do it myself. You could do it forme. Go and bring some roses. "

The little garden was a wonder of strange beauty with its massesof flowers. Judith brought some roses from the bush her playmatepointed out. She put them into a light bowl which was like abubble of thin, clear glass and stood on the desk near theletter. 

"If they would look like that, " the little girl said, "she wouldsee. But no one sees them like that--when the Life goes away withme. "

After that the game was finished and they went out on the roofgarden and stood and looked up into the blue above their heads. How blue--how blue--how clear--how near and real! And how far andunreal the streets and sounds below. The two children stood andlooked up and laughed at the sweetness of it. 

Then Judith felt a little tired. 

"I will go and lie down on the sofa, " she said. 

"Yes, " the little girl answered. "It's time for you to go tosleep. "

They went into the Closed Room and Judith lay down. As she didso, she saw that the door was standing open and remembered thather mother was coming up to see her and her playmate. 

The little girl sat down by her. She put out her pretty fine handand touched Judith for the first time. She laid her littlepointed fingers on her forehead and Judith fell asleep. 

It seemed only a few minutes before she wakened again. The littlegirl was standing by her. 

"Come, " she said. 

They went out together onto the roof among the flowers, but astrange--a beautiful thing had happened. The garden did not endat the parapet and the streets and houses were not below. Thelittle garden ended in a broad green pathway--green with thick, soft grass and moss covered with trembling white and bluebell-like flowers. Trees--fresh leaved as if spring had justawakened them--shaded it and made it look smiling fair. Greatwhite blossoms tossed on their branches and Judith felt that thescent in the air came from them. She forgot the city was below, because it was millions and millions of miles away, and this waswhere it was right to be. There was no mistake. This was real. All the rest was unreal--and millions and millions of miles away. 

They held each other's slim-pointed hands and stepped out uponthe broad, fresh green pathway. There was no boundary or end toits beauty, and it was only another real thing that comingtowards them from under the white, flowering trees was AuntHester. 

In the basement Jane Foster was absorbed in her labours, whichwere things whose accustomedness provided her with pleasure. Shewas fond of her scrubbing, she enjoyed the washing of her dishes, she definitely entertained herself with the splash and soapy foamof her washtubs and the hearty smack and swing of her ironing. Inthe days when she had served at the ribbon counter in adepartment store, she had not found life as agreeable as she hadfound it since the hours which were not spent at her own privatesewing machine were given to hearty domestic duties providingcleanliness, savoury meals, and comfort for Jem. 

She was so busy this particular afternoon that it was inevitablethat she should forget all else but the work which kept her onher knees scrubbing floors or on a chair polishing windows, andafterwards hanging before them bits of clean, spotted muslin. 

She was doing this last when her attention being attracted bywheels in the street stopping before the door, she looked out tosee a carriage door open and a young woman, dressed in exceptionallydeep mourning garb, step onto the pavement, cross it, and ascend thefront steps. 

"Who's she?" Jane exclaimed disturbedly. "Does she think thehouse is to let because it's shut?" A ring at the front door bellcalled her down from her chair. Among the duties of a caretakeris naturally included that of answering the questions ofvisitors. She turned down her sleeves, put on a fresh apron, andran up-stairs to the entrance hall. 

When she opened the door, the tall, young woman in black steppedinside as if there were no reason for her remaining even for amoment on the threshold. 

"I am Mrs. Haldon, " she said. "I suppose you are the caretaker?"

Haldon was the name of the people to whom the house belonged. JemFoster had heard only the vaguest things of them, but Janeremembered that the name was Haldon, and remembering that theyhad gone away because they had had trouble, she recognized at aglance what sort of trouble it had been. Mrs. Haldon was tall andyoung, and to Jane Foster's mind, expressed from head to foot theperfection of all that spoke for wealth and fashion. Her garmentswere heavy and rich with crape, the long black veil, which shehad thrown back, swept over her shoulder and hung behind her, serving to set forth, as it were, more pitifully the whitewornness of her pretty face, and a sort of haunting eagerness inher haggard eyes. She had been a smart, lovely, laughing andlovable thing, full of pleasure in the world, and now she was sostricken and devastated that she seemed set apart in an awfullonely world of her own. 

She had no sooner crossed the threshold than she looked about herwith a quick, smitten glance and began to tremble. Jane saw herlook shudder away from the open door of the front room, where thechairs had seemed left as if set for some gathering, and thewax-white flowers had been scattered on the floor. 

She fell into one of the carved hall seats and dropped her faceinto her hands, her elbows resting on her knees. 

"Oh! No! No!" she cried. "I can't believe it. I can't believeit!"

Jane Foster's eyes filled with good-natured ready tears ofsympathy. 

"Won't you come up-stairs, ma'am?" she said. "Wouldn't you liketo set in your own room perhaps?"

"No! No!" was the answer. "She was always there! She used to comeinto my bed in the morning. She used to watch me dress to go out. No! No!"

"I'll open the shutters in the library, " said Jane. 

"Oh! No! No! No! She would be sitting on the big sofa with herfairy story-book. She's everywhere--everywhere! How could I come!Why did I! But I couldn't keep away! I tried to stay in themountains. But I couldn't. Something dragged me day and night. Nobody knows I am here!" She got up and looked about her again. "I have never been in here since I went out with HER, " she said. "They would not let me come back. They said it would kill me. Andnow I have come--and everything is here--all the things we livedwith--and SHE is millions and millions--and millions of milesaway!"

"Who--who--was it?" Jane asked timidly in a low voice. 

"It was my little girl, " the poor young beauty said. "It was mylittle Andrea. Her portrait is in the library. "

Jane began to tremble somewhat herself. "That--?" she began--andended: "She is DEAD?"

Mrs. Haldon had dragged herself almost as if unconsciously to thestairs. She leaned against the newel post and her face droppedupon her hand. 

"Oh! I don't KNOW!" she cried. "I cannot believe it. How COULD itbe? She was playing in her nursery--laughing and playing--and sheran into the next room to show me a flower--and as she looked upat me--laughing, I tell you--laughing--she sank slowly down onher knees--and the flower fell out of her hand quietly--andeverything went out of her face--everything was gone away fromher, and there was never anything more--never!"

Jane Foster's hand had crept up to her throat. She did not knowwhat made her cold. 

"My little girl--" she began, "her name is Judith--"

"Where is she?" said Mrs. Haldon in a breathless way. 

"She is up-stairs, " Jane answered slowly. "She goes--into thatback room--on the fourth floor--"

Mrs. Haldon turned upon her with wide eyes. 

"It is locked!" she said. "They put everything away. I have thekey. "

"The door opens for her, " said Jane. "She goes to play with alittle girl--who comes to her. I think she comes over the rooffrom the next house. "

"There is no child there!" Mrs. Haldon shuddered. But it was notwith horror. There was actually a wild dawning bliss in her face. "What is she like?"

"She is like the picture. " Jane scarcely knew her own monotonousvoice. The world of real things was being withdrawn from her andshe was standing without its pale--alone with this woman and herwild eyes. She began to shiver because her warm blood was growingcold. "She is a child with red hair--and there is a deep dimplenear her mouth. Judith told me. You must not touch her. "

She heard a wild gasp--a flash of something at once anguish andrapture blazed across the haggard, young face--and with aswerving as if her slight body had been swept round by a suddengreat wind, Mrs. Haldon turned and fled up the stairs. 

Jane Foster followed. The great wind swept her upward too. Sheremembered no single intake or outlet of breath until she wasupon the fourth floor. 

The door of the Closed Room stood wide open and Mrs. Haldon wasswept within. 

Jane Foster saw her stand in the middle of the room a second, atall, swaying figure. She whirled to look about her and flung upher arms with an unearthly rapturous, whispered cry:

"It is all as she left it when she ran to me and fell. She hasbeen here--to show me it is not so far!"

She sank slowly upon her knees, wild happiness in her face--wildtears pouring down it. 

"She has seen her!" And she stretched forth yearning arms towardsthe little figure of Judith, who lay quiet upon the sofa in thecorner. "Your little girl has seen her--and I dare not waken her. She is asleep. "

Jane stood by the sofa--looking down. When she bent and touchedthe child the stillness of the room seemed to have got into herblood. 

"No, " she said, quivering, but with a strange simplicity. "No!not asleep! It was this way with her Aunt Hester. "

THE END