excited about having piano lessons, but I want you to give it a try," Barbara said a few moments later as they approached the resale shop. The windows fronting the sidewalk were jammed with hammers, boxes of nails, iron files, several shovels tied together like some gigantic bouquet, and a saw that looked large enough to fell a redwood. Then she noticed that the shade on the front door was pulled down, and a “closed” sign hung against the shade.
Before she had fully digested this obstacle to her plan, her son, who tugged at her sleeve, distracted her.
"Look at Dandy, Mother. What's the matter with him?"
Barbara looked down and saw that Dandy was standing stock still in front of the iron gate across the entryway to the side of the store, stretched out as long as possible from his pathetically small nose to his equally diminutive crooked tail, and his right front paw was drawn up under his belly. He looked for all the world like some miniature hunter, at point.
"Well, dear, he seems to have found some particularly intriguing scent," she said, trying not to laugh. Then Dandy, growling, began to move stiff-legged towards the gate, and as Barbara came up behind him, she was startled to see the fur at the back of his neck standing up. Her son had knelt beside the dog, looking through the gate and down the side of the house, and he said, "There, there, boy. What do you see? Is there another dog down there?"
Barbara, fully expecting to see Mrs. Francis' Scottie, peered down the narrow passageway, but she saw nothing but an empty brick walkway. Dandy then sat down abruptly and began to howl.
*****
"Positively howled! I don't know how to describe it, a kind of eerie yodel. It was the most bone-chilling sound," Barbara said to the three women sitting with her in the kitchen later that evening. Mrs. O'Rourke, the cook, Kathleen, the servant, and Mrs. Fuller, the boarding house owner, all looked at the dog in question, who was lying down, his small muzzle between his front paws, his brown eyes looking up at them.
Barbara felt like an interloper in the basement kitchen. Yet she was desperate for advice, and this was the only place she could think to turn. She didn't know why she felt so uncomfortable. Jamie, of course, could be found down here almost every day, doing his homework or playing with Dandy, who stayed in the kitchen when Jamie was at school and Barbara was at work. And she knew that Mrs. Stein often spent the evening down here when her husband was away on business. It wasn't that she felt she was above Mrs. O'Rourke or Kathleen, either. Mrs. O'Rourke had been so good to Jamie; she felt nothing but gratitude towards her. And Kathleen! Well, she just wished the young girls in her English and literature classes had half the intelligence and lively curiosity of Kathleen, who was probably not much older than those students. Maybe it was the third woman sitting across from her in the kitchen rocking chair, Mrs. Annie Fuller, who made her feel so uneasy.
Mrs. Fuller was a young widow, in her mid-twenties, who had inherited the house on O'Fa rrell Street and last year had turned it into a boarding house, although Mrs. O'Rourke was in charge of the day-to-day running of the household. She was a slender, graceful woman with reddish blonde hair and deep brown eyes--eyes that were now looking at Barbara with disconcerting directness. She sees too much. That's what makes me uncomfortable, Barbara thought. Everyone else just sees me as Mrs. Hewitt, the schoolteacher and doting mother of Jamie. She looks like she can see into my very soul. She couldn't possibly be really clairvoyant, could she?
Barbara tore her eyes away and looked back down at Dandy. As "Madam Sibyl," Mrs. Fuller spent most of her days reading palms and charting stars in order to advise a number of proper middle-aged women and prosperous businessmen. Mrs. Fuller had explained to Barbara, when she had interviewed her about becoming one of her boarders, that she
Before she had fully digested this obstacle to her plan, her son, who tugged at her sleeve, distracted her.
"Look at Dandy, Mother. What's the matter with him?"
Barbara looked down and saw that Dandy was standing stock still in front of the iron gate across the entryway to the side of the store, stretched out as long as possible from his pathetically small nose to his equally diminutive crooked tail, and his right front paw was drawn up under his belly. He looked for all the world like some miniature hunter, at point.
"Well, dear, he seems to have found some particularly intriguing scent," she said, trying not to laugh. Then Dandy, growling, began to move stiff-legged towards the gate, and as Barbara came up behind him, she was startled to see the fur at the back of his neck standing up. Her son had knelt beside the dog, looking through the gate and down the side of the house, and he said, "There, there, boy. What do you see? Is there another dog down there?"
Barbara, fully expecting to see Mrs. Francis' Scottie, peered down the narrow passageway, but she saw nothing but an empty brick walkway. Dandy then sat down abruptly and began to howl.
*****
"Positively howled! I don't know how to describe it, a kind of eerie yodel. It was the most bone-chilling sound," Barbara said to the three women sitting with her in the kitchen later that evening. Mrs. O'Rourke, the cook, Kathleen, the servant, and Mrs. Fuller, the boarding house owner, all looked at the dog in question, who was lying down, his small muzzle between his front paws, his brown eyes looking up at them.
Barbara felt like an interloper in the basement kitchen. Yet she was desperate for advice, and this was the only place she could think to turn. She didn't know why she felt so uncomfortable. Jamie, of course, could be found down here almost every day, doing his homework or playing with Dandy, who stayed in the kitchen when Jamie was at school and Barbara was at work. And she knew that Mrs. Stein often spent the evening down here when her husband was away on business. It wasn't that she felt she was above Mrs. O'Rourke or Kathleen, either. Mrs. O'Rourke had been so good to Jamie; she felt nothing but gratitude towards her. And Kathleen! Well, she just wished the young girls in her English and literature classes had half the intelligence and lively curiosity of Kathleen, who was probably not much older than those students. Maybe it was the third woman sitting across from her in the kitchen rocking chair, Mrs. Annie Fuller, who made her feel so uneasy.
Mrs. Fuller was a young widow, in her mid-twenties, who had inherited the house on O'Fa rrell Street and last year had turned it into a boarding house, although Mrs. O'Rourke was in charge of the day-to-day running of the household. She was a slender, graceful woman with reddish blonde hair and deep brown eyes--eyes that were now looking at Barbara with disconcerting directness. She sees too much. That's what makes me uncomfortable, Barbara thought. Everyone else just sees me as Mrs. Hewitt, the schoolteacher and doting mother of Jamie. She looks like she can see into my very soul. She couldn't possibly be really clairvoyant, could she?
Barbara tore her eyes away and looked back down at Dandy. As "Madam Sibyl," Mrs. Fuller spent most of her days reading palms and charting stars in order to advise a number of proper middle-aged women and prosperous businessmen. Mrs. Fuller had explained to Barbara, when she had interviewed her about becoming one of her boarders, that she
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