CHAPTER VIII
THE WHISPER IN THE DARK
'Phemie was very bold--until something really scared her--and then shewas quite likely to lose her head altogether. Lyddy was timid by nature,but an emergency forced her courage to high pressure.
They both, however, tried to ignore the fact that they were alone in theold house, far up on the mountainside, and a considerable distance fromany neighbor.
That was why they chattered so all through supper--and afterward. Neithergirl cared to let silence fall upon the room.
The singing of the kettle on the crane was a blessing. It made music thatdrove away "that lonesome feeling." And when it actually bubbled over andthe drip of it fell hissing into the fire, 'Phemie laughed as though itwere a great joke.
"Such a jolly thing as an open fire is, I declare," she said, sitting downat last in one of the low, splint-bottomed chairs, when the supper disheswere put away. "I don't blame Grandfather Phelps for refusing to allowstoves to be put up in his day."
"I fancy it would take a deal of wood to heat the old house in real coldweather," Lyddy said. "But it _is_ cheerful."
"Woo-oo! woo-oo-oo!" moaned the wind around the corner of the house. Aghostly hand rattled a shutter. Then a shrill whistle in the chimneystartled them.
At such times the sisters talked all the faster--and louder. It was reallyquite remarkable how much they found to say to each other.
They wondered how father was getting along at the hospital, and if AuntJane would surely see him every day or two, and write them. Then theyexchanged comments upon what they had seen of Bridleburg, and finallyfell back upon the Pritchetts as a topic of conversation--and that familyseemed an unfailing source of suggestion until finally 'Phemie jumpedup, declaring:
"What's the use of this, Lyd? Let's go to bed. We're both half scared todeath, but we'll be no worse off in bed----And, b-r-r-r! the fire's goingdown."
They banked the fire as Lucas had advised them, put out the lamp, andretired with the candle to the bedroom. The straw mattress rustled asthough it were full of mice, when the sisters had said their prayers andclimbed into bed. 'Phemie blew out the candle; but she had laid matchesnear it on the high stand beside her pillow.
"I hope there _are_ feather beds in the garret," she murmured, drowsily."This old straw is _so_ scratchy."
"We'll look to-morrow," Lyddy said. "Aunt Jane said we could make use ofanything we found here. But, my! it's a big house for only three people."
"It is," admitted 'Phemie. "I'd feel a whole lot better if it was full offolks."
"I have it!" exclaimed Lyddy, suddenly. "We might take boarders."
"Summer boarders?" asked her sister, curiously.
"I--I s'pose so."
"That's a long way ahead. It's winter yet," and 'Phemie snuggled downinto her pillow. "Folks from the city would never want to come to an oldhouse like this--with so few conveniences in it."
"_We_ like it; don't we?" demanded Lyddy.
"I don't know whether we do yet, or not," replied 'Phemie. "Let's waitand see."
'Phemie was drowsy, yet somehow she couldn't fall asleep. Usually shewas the first of the two to do so; but to-night Lyddy's deeper breathingassured the younger sister that she alone was awake in all the great,empty house.
And Sairy Pritchett had intimated that Hillcrest was haunted!
Now, 'Phemie didn't believe in ghosts--not at all. She would have beenvery angry had anyone suggested that there was a superstitious strain inher character.
Yet, as she lay there beside her sleeping sister she began to hear thestrangest sounds.
It wasn't the wind; nor was it the low crackling of the fire on thekitchen hearth. She could easily distinguish both of these. Soon, too,she made out the insistent gnawing of a rat behind the mopboard. Thatlong-tailed gentleman seemed determined to get in; but 'Phemie was notafraid of rats. At least, not so long as they kept out of sight.
But there were other noises. Once 'Phemie had all but lost herself insleep when--it seemed--a voice spoke directly in her ear. It said:
"_I thought I'd find you here._"
'Phemie started into a sitting posture in the rustling straw bed. Shelistened hard.
The voice was silent. The fire was still. The wind had suddenly dropped.Even the rat had ceased his sapping and mining operations.
What had frightened Mr. Rat away?
He, too, must have heard that mysterious voice. 'Phemie could not believeshe had imagined it.
Was that a rustling sound? Were those distant steps she heard--somewherein the house? Did she hear a door creak?
She slipped out of bed, drew on her woollen wrapper and thrust her feetinto slippers. She saw that it was bright moonlight outside, for a pencilof light came through a chink in one of the shutters.
Lyddy slept as calmly as a baby--and 'Phemie was glad. Of course, itwas all foolishness about ghosts; but she believed there was somebodyprowling about the house.
She lit the candle and after the flame had sputtered a bit and began toburn clear she carried it into the kitchen. Their little round alarm clockticked modestly on the dresser. It was not yet ten o'clock.
"Not the 'witching hour of midnight, when graveyards yawn'--and otherpeople do, too," thought 'Phemie, giggling nervously. "Surely ghostscannot be walking yet."
Indeed, she was quite assured that what she had heard--both the voiceand the footsteps--were very much of the earth, earthy. There was nothingsupernatural in the mysterious sounds.
And it seemed to 'Phemie as though the steps had retreated toward the eastell--the other wing of the rambling old farmhouse.
What was it Lucas Pritchett had said about his father using thecellar under the east wing at Hillcrest? Yet, what would bring CyrusPritchett--or anybody else--up here to the vinegar cellar at teno'clock at night?
'Phemie grew braver by the minute. She determined to run this mysterydown, and she was quite sure that it would prove to be a very human andcommonplace mystery after all. She opened the door between the kitchen andthe dark side hall by which they had first entered the old house thatafternoon. Although she had never been this way, 'Phemie knew that out ofthis square hall opened a long passage leading through the main houseto the east wing.
And she easily found the door giving entrance to this corridor. But shehesitated when she stood on the threshold, and almost gave up the venturealtogether.
A cold, damp breath rushed out at her--just as though some huge,subterranean monster lay in wait for her in the darkness--a darknessso dense that the feeble ray of her candle could only penetrate it avery little way.
"How foolish of me!" murmured 'Phemie. "I've come so far--I guess I cansee it through."
She certainly did not believe that the steps and voice were inside thehouse. The passage was empty before her. She refused to let the risingtide of trepidation wash away her self-control.
So she stepped in boldly, holding the candle high, and proceeded alongthe corridor. There were tightly closed doors on either side, and behindeach door was a mystery. She could not help but feel this. Every door wasa menace to her peace of mind.
"But I will _not_ think of such things," she told herself. "I know ifthere _is_ anybody about the house, it is a very human somebodyindeed--and he has no business here at this time of night!"
In her bed-slippers 'Phemie's light feet fell softly on the frayedoilcloth that carpeted the long hall. Dimly she saw two or three heavy,ancient pieces of furniture standing about--a tall escritoire withthree paneled mirrors, which reflected herself and her candle dimly; along davenport with hungry arms and the dust lying thick upon itshaircloth upholstery; chairs with highly ornate spindles in theirperfectly "straight up and down," uncomfortable-looking backs.
She came to the end of the hall. A door faced her which she was suremust lead into the east wing. There, Aunt Jane had said, old Dr. PollyPhelps had had his office, consultation room, and workshop, or laboratory.'Phemie's hand hesitated on the latch.
Should she venture
into the old doctor's rooms? The greater part of hislong and useful life had been spent behind this green-painted door.'Phemie, of course, had never seen her grandfather; but she had seenhis picture--that of a tall, pink-faced, full-bodied man, his cheeksand lips cleanly shaven, but with a fringe of silvery beard under hischin, and long hair.
It seemed to her for a moment as though, if she opened this door, theapparition of the old doctor, just as he was in his picture, would bethere to face her.
"You little fool!" whispered the shaken 'Phemie to herself. "Go on!"
She lifted the latch. The door seemed to stick. She pressed her kneeagainst the panel; it did not give at all.
And then she discovered that the door was locked. But the key was there,and in a moment she turned it creakingly and pushed the door open.
The air in the corridor had been still; but suddenly a strong breeze drewthis green door wide open. The wind rushed past, blew out the candle,and behind her the other door, which she had left ajar, banged heavily,echoing and reechoing through the empty house.
'Phemie was startled, but she understood at once the snuffing of hercandle and the closing of the other door. She only hoped Lyddy wouldnot be frightened by the noise--or by her absence from her side.
"I'll see it through, just the same," declared the girl, her teeth setfirmly on her lower lip. "Ha! driven away by a draught--not I!"
She groped her way into the room and closed the green door. There was amatch upon her candlestick and she again lighted the taper. Quickly thefirst room in this east wing suite was revealed to her gaze.
This had been the anteroom, or waiting-room for the old doctor's patients.There was a door opening on the side porch. A long, old-fashioned setteestood against one wall, and some splint-bottomed chairs were set stifflyabout the room, while a shaky mahogany table, with one pedestal leg,occupied the center of the apartment.
'Phemie was more careful of the candle now and shielded the flame withher hollowed palm as she pushed open the door of the adjoining room.
Here was a big desk with a high top and drop lid, while there were rowsupon rows of drawers underneath. A wide-armed chair stood before the desk,just as it must have been used by the old doctor. The room was lined tothe ceiling with cases of books and cupboards. Nobody had disturbed thedoctor's possessions after his death. No younger physician had "takenover" his practice.
'Phemie went near enough to see that the desk, and the cupboards as well,were locked. There was a long case standing like an overgrown clock-casein one corner. The candle-light was reflected in the front of this caseas though the door was a mirror.
But when 'Phemie approached it she saw that it was merely a glass doorwith a curtain of black cambric hung behind it. She was curious to knowwhat was in the case. It had no lock and key and she stretched forth atentative hand and turned the old-fashioned button which held it closed.
The door seemed fairly to spring open, as though pushed from within,and, as it swung outward and the flickering candle-light penetrated itsinterior, 'Phemie heard a sudden surprising sound.
Somewhere--behind her, above, below, in the air, all about her--was asigh! Nay, it was more than a sigh; it was a mighty and unmistakable yawn!
And on the heels of this yawn a voice exclaimed:
"I'm getting mighty tired of this!"
'Phemie flashed her gaze back to the open case. Fear held her by thethroat and choked back the shriek she would have been glad to utter.For, dangling there in the case, its eyeless skull on a level with herown face, hung an articulated skeleton; and to 'Phemie Bray's excitedcomprehension it seemed as though both the yawn and the apt speech whichfollowed it, had proceeded from the grinning jaws of the skull!
The Girls of Hillcrest Farm; Or, The Secret of the Rocks Page 8