Watson."
Altogether, Mrs. Marsh's house had lost its homelike character; and it was
not strange that under the circumstances Phil should flag a little. He was
not ill, but he was out of sorts and dismal, and disposed to consider the
presence of so many strangers as a personal wrong. Clover felt that it was
not a good atmosphere for him, and anxiously revolved in her mind what was
best to do. The Shoshone was much too expensive; good boarding-houses in
St. Helen's were few and far between, and all of them shared in a still
greater degree the disadvantages which had made themselves felt at Mrs.
Marsh's.
The solution to her puzzle came--as solutions often do--unexpectedly. She
was walking down Piute Street on her way to call on Alice Blanchard, when
her attention was attracted to a small, shut-up house, on which was a
sign: "No. 13. To Let, Furnished." The sign was not printed, but written
on a half-sheet of foolscap, which was what led Clover to notice it.
She studied the house a while, then opened the gate, and went in. Two or
three steps led to a little piazza. She seated herself on the top step,
and tried to peep in at the closed blinds of the nearest window.
While she was doing so, a woman with a shawl over her head came hastily
down a narrow side street or alley, and approached her.
"Oh, did you want the key?" she said.
"The key?" replied Clover, surprised; "of this house, do you mean?"
"Yes.
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