"There! you heard it?"

"The wind rustling something," said Ruth, attempting to go on.

"No."

"Something squeaks--mice, I do believe."

"Mice would starve to death here," declared Helen.

"How smart of you! That is right," agreed Ruth. "Come on. Let us see what it is--if it's upstairs."

Helen clung close to her and trembled. There was the rustling, squeaking sound again. Ruth pushed on (secretly feeling rather staggered by the strange noise), and they entered one of the larger upper chambers.

Immediately she saw an open stovepipe hole in the chimney. "The noise comes from that," she declared, setting down the basket and pointing.

"But what is it?" wailed her frightened chum.

"The wind?"

"Never!"

The lightning flashed again, and the thunder rolled nearer. Helen screamed, crouched down upon the floor, and covered her ears, squeezing her eyelids tight shut too.

"Dreadful! dreadful!" she gasped.

Still the silence outside between the reports of thunder; but the rustling in the chimney continued. Ruth looked around, found a piece of broken window-sash on the floor, and approached the open pipe-hole.

"Here's for stirring up Mr. Ghost," she said, in a much braver tone than she secretly felt.

She always felt her responsibility with Helen. The latter was of a nervous, imaginary temperament, and it was never well for her to get herself worked up in this way.

"Oh, Ruth! Don't! Suppose it bites you!" gasped Helen.

At that Ruth _did_ laugh. "Whoever heard of a ghost with teeth?" she demanded, and instantly thrust the stick into the gaping hole.

There was a stir--a flutter--a squeaking--and out flopped a brown object about the size of a mouse. Helen shrieked again, and even Ruth darted back.

"A mouse!" cried Helen.

"Right--_a flittermouse_!" agreed Ruth, suddenly bursting into a laugh.

"The chimney's full of them."

"Oh, let's get out!"

"In this rain?" and Ruth pointed to the window, where now the drops were falling, big and fast--the vanguard of the storm.

"But if a bat gets into your hair!" moaned Helen, rocking herself on her knees.

Ruth opened the big hamper, seized a newspaper, and swooped down upon the blind, fluttering brown bat. Seizing it as she would a spider, she ran to the window and flung it out, just as the water burst into the room in a flood.

Then she ran to the pipe-hole and thrust the paper into it, making a "stopper" which would not easily fall out. She dragged Helen to the other side of the room, where the floor was dry and they were out of the draught.

There the two girls cowered for some moments, hugged close together, Helen hiding her eyes from the intermittent lightning against Ruth's jacket. The thunder roared overhead, and the rain dashed down in torrents. For ten minutes it was as hard a storm as the girl of the Red Mill ever remembered seeing. Such tempests in the hills are not infrequent.

When the thunder began to roll away into the distance, and the lightning was less brilliant, the girls could take some notice of what else went on. The fierce drumming of the rain continued, but there seemed to be a noise in the lower part of the building.

"Tom has come in," said Helen, with satisfaction.

"He must have gotten awfully wet, then, getting here from that shed,"

Ruth returned. "Hush!"

Somebody sneezed heavily. Helen opened her mouth to cry out, but Ruth put her palm upon her lips, effectually smothing the cry.

"Sh!" the girl of the Red Mill admonished. "Let him find us."

"Oh! that will be fun," agreed Helen.

Ruth did not look at her. She listened intently. There was a heavy, sc.r.a.ping foot upon the floor below. To _her_ mind, it did not sound like Tom at all.

She held Helen warningly by the wrist and they continued to strain their ears for some minutes. Then an odor reached them which Ruth was sure did not denote Tom's presence in the room below. It was the smell of strong tobacco smoked in an ancient pipe!

"What's that?" sniffed Helen, whisperingly.

Uncle Jabez smoked a strong pipe and Ruth could not be mistaken as to the nature of this one. She remembered the two men who had hidden in the bushes as the car rolled by, not many miles back on this road.

"Let's shout for Tom and bring him in here," Helen suggested.

"Perhaps get him into trouble? Let's try and find out, first, what sort of people they are," objected Ruth, for they now heard talking and knew that there were at least two visitors below.

Rising quietly, Ruth crept on tiptoe to the head of the stair. The drumming rain helped smother any sound she might have made.

Slowly, stair by stair, Ruth Fielding let herself down until she could see into the open doorway of the dining room. Two men were squatting on the hearth, both smoking a.s.siduously.

They were rough looking, unlovely fellows, and the growl of their voices did not impress Ruth as being of a quality to inspire confidence.

CHAPTER VIII

WHAT WAS IT ALL ABOUT?

The two men were mumbling together--Ruth could not catch the words at first. When she did, they meant nothing to her, and she was puzzled.

But suddenly one said in clear, if peculiar, English:

"The old hag bags the best of the loot--always, my Carlo."