shutters open."

They could hear his footsteps sound hollowly in the back rooms, and
shafts of dusky light, preceded by hammerings and thumpings, began
presently to band the inside of the house. Felicia stepped upon the
painted floor of the bare hall, glanced up the narrow stairs, and then
stood in the musty, half-lit emptiness of what she guessed to be the
living-room, waiting for Ken. Kirk did not explore. He stood quite still
beside his sister, sorting out sounds, analyzing smells. Ken came in,
very dusty, rubbing his hands on his trousers.

"Lots of fireplaces, anyway," he said. "Put down your things--if you've
anywhere to put 'em. I'll load all the duffle into this room and see if
there's any wood in the woodshed. Glory! No beds, no blankets! There'll
_have_ to be wood, if the orchard primeval is sacrificed!" And he went,
whistling blithely.

"This is an adventure," Felicia whispered dramatically to Kirk. "We've
never had a real one before; have we?"

"Oh, it's nice!" Kirk cried suddenly. "It's low and still, and--the
house wants us, Phil!"

"The house wants us," murmured Felicia. "I believe that's going to help
me."

It was quite the queerest supper that the three had ever cooked or
eaten. Perhaps "cooked" is not exactly the right word for what happened
to the can of peas and the can of baked beans. Ken did find wood--not in
the woodshed, but strewing the orchard grass; hard old apple-wood, gray