I tried to think I was Jennie Brice, trying to get away and hide from my rascal of a husband. But I made no headway. I would never have gone to Horner, or to any small town, if I had wanted to hide. I [Page 144] think I should have gone around the corner and taken a room in my own neighborhood, or have lost myself in some large city. It was that same day that, since I did not go to Horner, Horner came to me. The bell rang about three o'clock, and I answered it myself. For, with times hard and only two or three roomers all winter, I had not had a servant, except Terry to do odd jobs, for some months. There stood a fresh-faced young girl, with a covered basket in her hand. "Are you Mrs. Pitman?" she asked. "I don't need anything to-day," I said, trying to shut the door. And at that minute something in the basket cheeped. Young women selling poultry are not common in our neighborhood. "What have you there?" I asked more agreeably. "Chicks, day-old chicks, but I'm not trying to sell you any. I -- may I come in?" It was dawning on me then that perhaps this [Page 145] was Eliza Shaeffer. I led her back to the dining-room, with Peter sniffing at the basket. "My name is Shaeffer," she said. "I've seen your name in the papers, and I believe I know something about Jennie Brice." Eliza