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sun shone in dusty lines, and by the window, in a low splint chair, sat a little old woman knitting. She held her work near her eyes, and only glanced up once as the girls opened the door. She wore a brown gown and a brown cap. Seeing that she paid no attention, the girls quietly gathered up a quantity of butternuts in their aprons. They had meant to crack them upstairs, but fearing to disturb the knitter, they now carried them down under the ash-tree.

"This is better too," said Prue, "because the shells won't make such a litter."

In their haste they had not taken butternuts enough, and were soon ready for more. They ran up the stairs, and as they opened the door again into the little garret, they saw the old woman just disappearing by another door behind the spinning-wheel.

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"That's the way down into the shed," said Janet. 'Oh! she's left one of her needles!" exclaimed Prue, picking up a long shining steel. “Let us run after her with it."

They pushed in behind the wheel, opened the door, which was left a little ajar, and passing through, found themselves on a dark descending stairway, very narrow, and with very small steps. Janet went ahead and Prue followed carefully.

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"THAT'S THE WAY DOWN INTO THE SHED," SAID JANET.

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"I suppose the door at the foot of the stairs is shut," said Janet, "and that is what makes it so dark."

"I have a mind to wait till you get there and open it," said Prue.

"Oh! no, come right along," urged Janet, "we'll be out in the shed in a minute. I wish we had brought our nuts, so as not to go up again."

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Why don't we reach the bottom?" asked Prue, after a few moments, as they still descended the stairway, making a turn from time to time.

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'I don't know," said Janet; "they are such little steps that maybe we think we get along faster than we really do."

"I believe they go into the shed cellar," remarked Prue, picking her way with close-gathered skirts.

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Perhaps they do," said Janet, cheerfully. "I wish we had counted the steps. I mean to begin now, though there cannot be many left. three, four-"

One, two,

And so she went on, until at the twentieth, Prue,

who began to feel timid, whispered,

"Let us go back!"

"Oh! no, hark! I hear someone just below.

It

is a boy whistling. Perhaps he is coming for the needle."

There surely were steps approaching, and soon a little light appeared, a tiny lantern, held by a boy who was groping his way upward. His brown clothes looked like dark leather, and his shaggy eyebrows met over his eyes, but his face was childlike and not unattractive. His brown cap rested on clustering, black, curly hair, and the little button at the top hung loose.

"You needn't come up any farther," said Janet, "we have brought the needle. How much longer

are these stairs?"

"Twice as much again," said the boy, looking at them in amazement.

"Don't they lead into Mrs. Wray's shed?" asked Prue, looking over Janet's shoulder.

"They lead into my playhouse," said the boy.

"Oh! take us there, then!" exclaimed Janet; "we don't want to climb the stairs again, and we should like your playhouse, I know. When we have seen it we can go home.”

Prue could not remember ever having seen a playhouse on the Wray farm, but she thought he might mean the grape-arbor, so she kept silence.

The boy turned and led the way downward, Janet and Prue following as best they could, for it really seemed better now to keep on than to turn

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