THE Stepmother went out and came back with a flashlight.

“Here,” she said.

The Giant flashed it into the closet, yanked out the trunk, flashed the light in again, straight into Wendell’s face, as he crouched there half-covered by old clothes.

“He isn’t here,” said the Giant.

“No,” said his wife.

“He’s been in here, though,” declared the Giant, sniffing. “Strong smell of him.”

“Probably the man had him crawl in there to see if there was any leak in the connection,” suggested the Stepmother. “I hope he’ll come back and finish up soon. This place is a mess.”

What did it mean? They were looking straight at him. The light was shining full on him. Yet they didn’t see him, not any more than if he were invisible.

Invisible! Why, of course! The invisible cloak—the Cloak of Darkness that he had come to find! It must be this musty old garment that he had pulled down to conceal him in his fright. Sure enough! And now came the terrifying thought,—in another moment the door might be closed upon him, and he shut fast in a prison from which there would be no easier escape than if it were a veritable Giant’s dungeon in a fairy book. He must get out at once. He drew the musty folds securely about him, crawled forward, dodged under the Giant’s very arm, squeezed close to the wall to pass the Stepmother, made himself small, not to crowd the Ugly Stepsister, all agog in the doorway, slid down the banisters, sneaked through the kitchen, out the back door, and away. He was free!

He scudded down the street as fast as his legs could twinkle, and turned the corner. Which way to go, was the question. A nice-looking lady was approaching. Wendell politely took off his cap and confronted her as she reached him. To his surprise, the lady sailed by without twitching a feature.

“Oh, of course. She can’t see me,” said Wendell. So he slipped off the cloak and hung it over his arm, and in a moment a grocer’s delivery boy with a basket came around the curve.

“Say, can you tell me where to get the car for Park Street?” asked Wendell.

“Sure, kid,” said the boy obligingly. “Keep on to a big house with a stone wall around it. Then take the first street to the right and you’ll come out on the car line.”

Wendell thanked him and went on, found the house and the wall and the street, and there ahead of him were the electric wires. He got to the corner almost simultaneously with the car, hailed it and jumped on with a sigh of relief. It was a pay-as-you-enter car. He stood by the box and slid his hand into his pocket for the necessary dime, to realize with a shock that he hadn’t a cent with him. These were his cast-off clothes. He knew it was useless to search the pockets. He remembered he had gone through them a week ago, when the ice cream-sandwich man was going by. He grinned at the conductor, feeling very foolish, and dropped off the car.

Well, of course, he could walk it all right, since he had to. It would be simple to follow the car tracks. He stuck his hands in his pockets and started off whistling.

“Hey, kid, you’re dragging your mother’s cape,” said a young fellow who passed him. Wendell folded the Cloak of Darkness into a better shape for carrying, then decided to wear it. After he had it on, the inspiration came to him to board an electric at the next white post, and ride home free.

Perfectly simple! He got on behind an unsuspecting gentleman and took a seat near the door. Across the aisle sat a cross-eyed man. Wendell had always longed for a chance to see how a cross-eyed man worked his eyes, but he had never been allowed to stare at any one. Now he sat and stared to his heart’s content, unforbidden and unseen. He stared with such concentration that he was unaware that another passenger had entered the car, a very stout old colored woman, until, ouch! she sat right down on him!

“Laws-ee!” she said, and rose up quickly, and Wendell jumped for another seat as fast as his crushed condition would permit. The old woman turned to apologize—to an empty seat! Her jaw dropped in surprise, she glared all around the car, and then lowered herself cautiously into the seat, still muttering.

Wendell felt so secure in his invisibility, that he made no attempt to restrain his laughter. He roared with mirth, and rocked, and slapped his knee, till he noticed that the passengers were all looking to see which one of them was responsible for this unseemly noise. This struck Wendell as funnier than ever. He laughed uncontrollably, but he didn’t forget again to keep an eye on the door; and whenever anyone got on after that, Wendell rose to his feet with a promptitude that would have earned him a medal as the most courteous boy in Greater Boston, if the Courtesy Contest Editor of the Post could have seen him.

As the car proceeded northward, the seats were filled more and more, till there was no room for Wendell to sit. Towards the end of his ride, it really was too crowded for comfort, for other standing passengers stood on his feet, and wedged him in to small spaces, and lurched against him with the motion of the car, and then apologized to somebody else, till he was very glad when they arrived at Park Street, and he could run for home. He went in with the cloak under his arm and hid it in his bureau drawer.