The Campfire Girls of Roselawn Part 10

"Not a _great_ shoe box. Please! My own shoes came in it and I haven't enormously big feet," complained Amy. "But we must slow down."

"Just to let you admire Dogtown, I suppose?" said Jessie, laughing.

"Well, it's a sight! I wonder what became of that freckle-faced young one."

"I wonder if she found her cousin," added Jessie.

"That was a funny game; for that child to go hunting through the neighborhood after a girl. What was her name--Bertha?"

"Yes. And I have been thinking since then, Amy, that we should have asked little Henrietta some more questions."

"Little Henrietta," murmured Amy. "How funny! She never could fill specifications for such a name."

"Never mind that," Jessie flung back over her shoulder, and still breathing easily as she set a slower stroke. "What I have been thinking about is that other girl."

"The lost girl, Bertha?"

"No, no. Or, perhaps, yes, yes!" laughed Jessie. "But I mean that girl the two women forced to go with them in the motor-car. You surely remember, Amy."

"Oh! The kidnaped girl. My! Yes, I should say I did remember her. But what has that to do with little Henrietta? And they call her 'Hen,'"

she added, chuckling.

"I have been thinking that perhaps the girl Henrietta was looking for was the girl we saw being carried away by those women."

"Jess Norwood! Do you suppose so?"

"I don't know whether I suppose so or not," laughed Jessie. "But I think if I ever see that child again I shall question her more closely."

She said this without the first idea that little Henrietta would cross their way almost at once. The canoe touched the gra.s.sy bank at the edge of the old Carter place at the far end of the lake just before noon. An end of the old house had been burned several years before, but the kitchen ell was still standing, with chimney complete.

Picnic parties often used the ruin of the old house in which to sup.

It was a shelter, at least.

"I've got to eat. I've got to eat!" proclaimed Amy, the moment she disembarked. "Actually, I am as hollow as Mockery."

"Well, I never!" chuckled Jessie. "Your simile is remarkably apt. And I feel that I might do justice to Alma's sandwiches, myself."

"Where's the sun gone?" suddenly demanded Amy, looking up and then turning around to look over the water.

"Why! I didn't notice those clouds. It is going to shower, Amy, my dear."

"It is going to thunder and lightning, too," and Amy looked a little disturbed. "I confess that I do not like a thunderstorm."

"Let us draw up the canoe and turn it over. Keep the inside of it dry.

And we'll take the cus.h.i.+ons up to the old house," added Jessie, briskly throwing the contents of the canoe out upon the bank.

"Ugh! I don't fancy going into the house," said Amy.

"Why not?"

"The old place is kind of spooky."

"Spooks have no teeth," chuckled Jessie. "I heard of a ghost once that seemed to haunt a country house, but after all it was only an old gentleman in a state of somnambulism who was hunting his false teeth."

"Don't make fun of spirits," Amy told her, sepulchrally.

"Why not? I never saw a ghost."

"That makes no difference. It doesn't prove there is none. How black those clouds are! O-oh! That was a sharp flash, Jessie, honey. Let's run. I guess the haunts in the old Carter house can't be as bad as standing out here in a thunder-and-lightning storm."

"To say nothing of getting our lunch wet," chuckled Jessie, following the dark girl up the gra.s.sy path with her arms filled to overflowing.

"Ah, dear me!" wailed Amy, hurrying ahead. "And those strawberries we came for. I am afraid I shall not have enough to eat without them."

The ruin of the Carter house stood upon a knoll, several great elms sheltering it. The dooryard was covered with a heavy sod and the ancient flower beds had run wild with weeds.

The place did have rather an eerie look. Most of the window panes were broken and the steps and narrow porch before the kitchen door had broken away, leaving traps for careless feet.

The thunder growled behind them. Amy quickened her steps. As she had said, she shuddered at the tempest. What might be of a disturbing nature in the old farmhouse could not, she thought, be as fearsome as the approaching tempest.

CHAPTER VIII

CARTER'S GHOST

On the broken porch of the abandoned house Amy stopped and waited for her chum to overtake her. When she looked back she cried out again.

Forked lightning blazed against the lurid clouds. It was so sharp a display of electricity that Amy shut her eyes.

Jessie, still laughing, plunged up the steps and b.u.mped right into the sagging door. It swung inward, creakingly. Amy peered over her chum's shoulder.

"O-oh!" she crooned. "Do--do you see anything?"

"Nothing alive. Not even a rat."

"Ghosts aren't alive."

"Nothing moving, then," and Jessie proceeded to march into the rather dark kitchen. "Here's a table and some benches. You know, Miss Allister's Sunday School cla.s.s picnicked here last year."

"Oh, I've been here a dozen times," confessed Amy. "But always with a crowd. You know, honey, you are no protection against ghosts."

"Don't be so ridiculous," laughed Jessie. She had put down the things she had brought up from the lakeside, and now turned back to look out of the open door. "Oh, Amy! It's coming!"

There was a crash of thunder and then the rain began drumming on the roof of the porch. Jessie looked out. The clearing about the house had darkened speedily. A sheet of rain came drifting across the lake toward the hillock on which the house stood.

"Do shut the door, Jessie," begged Amy Drew.

"How ridiculous!" Jessie said again. "You can't shut the windows.