A long flight of steps, with iron
railing at the side, led down from the front door, upon which a silver
plate had for generations in decorous flourishes announced the name of
Terry.
Miss Terry returned to the play box and drew out between thumb and finger
the topmost toy. It happened to be a wooden box, with a wire hasp for
fastening the cover. Half unconsciously she pressed the spring, and a
hideous Jack-in-the-box sprang out to confront her with a squeak, a leering
smile, and a red nose. Miss Terry eyed him with disfavor.
"I always did hate that thing," she said. "Tom was continually frightening
me with it, I remember." As if to be rid of unwelcome memories she shut her
mouth tight, even as she shut Jack back into his box, snapping the spring
into place. "This will do to begin with," she thought. She crossed to the
window, which she opened quickly, and tossed out the box, so that it fell
squarely in the middle of the sidewalk. Then closing the window and turning
down the lights in the room behind her, Miss Terry hid in the folds of the
curtain and watched to see what would happen to Jack.
The street was quiet. Few persons passed on either side. At last she spied
two little ragamuffins approaching.
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