In a few moments she had opened a little closet which I had not noticed.

"Here is one!" she cried, "but it's torn--the heel is nearly off! Perhaps the other one--" "Give me that!" I exclaimed.

"It doesn't matter about its being torn!" With the old overshoe in my hand I ran back into the room, where Mr.
Larramie was still imploring the McKenna sister to get down from the bed.

I stooped and thrust the shoe under as far as I could reach.
Almost immediately I saw a movement in the shaggy mass in the corner.
I wriggled the shoe, and a paw was slightly extended.

Then I drew it away slowly from under the bed.
Now, Miss Susan McKenna rose in the air higher than she had yet gone.
A maddening wail went up, and for a moment she tottered on the apex of an elevation like a wooden idol upheaved by an earthquake.