Dr. McIntyre bent a puzzled face over the Jimmy-book.
“What is this? I don’t understand”
“We don’t understand it, either—Emily drew it in her sleep.”
“In her sleep?” Dr. McIntyre was too bewildered to be anything but an echo.
“She must have. There was nobody else—unless your Grandmother can draw.”
“Not she. And she never saw this house—it’s the Scobie cottage below Malvern Bridge, isn’t it?”
“Yes. We saw it yesterday.”
“But Allan can’t be there—it’s been locked for a month—the carpenters went away in August.”
“Oh—I know,” stammered Emily. “I was thinking so much of Allan before I went to sleep—I suppose it’s only a dream—I don’t understand it at all—but we had to show it to you.”
“Of course. Well, I won’t say anything to Will or Clara about it. I'll get Rob Mason from over the hill and we'll run down and have a look around the cottage. It would be odd if—but it couldn’t possibly be. I don’t see how we can get into the cottage. It’s locked and the windows are shuttered.”
“This one—over the front door—isn’t.”
“No—but that’s a closet window at the end of the upstairs hall. I was over the house one day in August when the painters were at work in it. The closet shuts with a spring lock, so I suppose that is why they didn’t put a shutter on that window. It’s high up, close to the ceiling, I remember. Well, I'll slip over to Rob’s and see about this. It won’t do to leave any stone unturned.”
Emily and Ilse ate what breakfast they could, thankful that Mrs. Hollinger let them alone, save for a few passing remarks as she came and went at work.
“Turrible night last night—but the rain is over. I never closed an eye. Pore Clara didn’t either, but she’s quieter now—sorter despairing. I’m skeered for her
