"THE storm-door closes with a bang! My escort, a stupid fellow, has said "Good-night! " He drives down the street in his old rattletrap of a coupe. I am so glad he is gone! And yet I am always afraid of burglars-orsomething dreadful, whenever I go into the house alone so late at night. I bolt the inside door. I mount the hall-chair, left waiting by papa, and, trembling with a nameless fear, turn out the gas and leave myself in darkness. I make two vain dashes for the stair; a third, and I have found it. I grope for the heavy rail and go rapidly up, two steps at a time, and finally, out of breath, badly frightened, reach my room. What a relief! I turn on the light-two, three, yes, four burners, and wish for more. I stir up the fire into a blaze; look over my left shoulder, but see nothing; listen, but hear nothing. "