Louise soon realized this; the servants she knew were on the other
side of the house and might not come near the library till the next
day. She thought of the windows, and tried them one after another,
standing on tiptoe on the sill, but she could not move the fastenings.
The one that faced the street was too far back for any possibility of
attracting the attention of passers-by.
"What shall I do? They won't know what has become of me," she said.
She wondered if Bruce would not come to turn on the light in the hall,
only to be disappointed again, for when she peeped through the keyhole
it was already burning. Again and again she tried to move the latch
with a pen-knife, and then with a paper-cutter, but without success.
Then she sat down to think. There was nothing to do but wait. She was
a brave little person, but as she saw how dark it was growing and
thought of home with all its light and cheer she could not keep the
tears out of her eyes.
How foolish she had been, and naughty, too! What right had she to the
book? She ought to have asked her father's permission before she
thought of going for it. This was all quite clear now.
The room was cold, and outside the wind whistled about the house.
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