"Perhaps it is a haunted house," she said, jokingly. "Every village has
a haunted house, you know. Perhaps that's why the stage-driver warned us
not to go into it."

To her surprise Mrs. Barnes seemed to take offense at this attempt at
humor.

"Don't talk silly," she snapped. "If I've lived all these years and
been as down on spooks and long-haired mediums as I've been, and then
to--there--there! Don't let's be idiots altogether. Talk about somethin'
else. Talk about that depot-wagon driver and his pesky go-cart that got
us into this mess. There's plenty of things I'd like to say about THEM."

They talked, in low tones. Conversation there in the dark and under such
circumstances, was rather difficult. Emily, although she was determined
not to admit it, was growing alarmed for the return of Winnie S. and
his promised rescue expedition. Aunt Thankful was thinking of the little
back bedroom upstairs. An utter lack of superstition was something upon
which she had prided herself. But now, as she thought of that room, of
the portrait on the wall, and what she had heard--

"Listen!" whispered Emily, suddenly. "Listen! I--I thought I heard
something."

Mrs. Barnes leaned forward.

"What? Where? Upstairs?" she asked, breathlessly.

"No. Out--out there somewhere." She pointed in the direction of the