"Maybe I'd better leave you the lantern," he said, doubtfully. "I guess likely I could get along without it and--and 'twould make it more sociable for you."

He put the lantern down on the earth floor beside them and strode off into the dark. Mrs. Barnes called after him.

"Ain't there any way of gettin' into that house?" she asked. "It acts as if 'twas goin' to storm hard as ever and this shed ain't the most--what did you call it?--sociable place in creation, in spite of the lantern.

If we could only get inside that house--"

Winnie S. interrupted. They could not see him, but there was a queer note in his voice.

"Get inside!" he repeated. "Get into THAT house this time of night!

Well--well, maybe you could, but I wouldn't do it, not for nothin'. You better wait in the shed. I'll be back soon as ever I can."

They heard him splashing along the road. Then a gust of wind and a torrent of rain beating upon the leaky roof drowned all other sounds.

Emily turned to her companion.

"Auntie," she said, "if you and I were superst.i.tious we might think all this, all that we've been through, was what people call a sign, a warning. That is what ever so many South Middleboro people would say."

"Humph! if I believed in signs I'd have noticed the weather signs afore we started. Those are all the 'signs' I believe in and I ought to have known better than to risk comin' when it looked so threatenin'. I can't forgive myself for that. However, we did come, and here we are--wherever 'here' is. Now what in the world did that man mean by sayin' we better not try to get into that house? I don't care what he meant. Give me that lantern."

"Auntie, where are you going?"

"I'm goin' to take an observation of those windows. Nine chances to one they ain't all locked, and if there's one open you and I can crawl into it. I wish we could boost the horse in, too, poor thing, but self-preservation is the first law of nature and if he's liable to perish it's no reason we should. I'm goin' to get into that house if such a thing's possible."

"But, Auntie--"

"Don't say another word. I'm responsible for your bein' here this night, Emily Howes. You wouldn't have come if I hadn't coaxed you into it. And you shan't die of pneumonia or--or drownin' if I can help it. I'm goin'

to have a look at those doors and windows. Don't be scared. I'll be back in a jiffy. Goodness me, what a puddle! Well, if you hear me holler you'll know I'm goin' under for the third time, so come quick. Here goes!"

Lantern in hand, she splashed out into the wet, windy darkness.

CHAPTER II

Miss Howes, left to share with General Jackson the "sociability" of the shed, watched that lantern with faint hope and strong anxiety. She saw it bobbing like a gigantic firefly about the walls of the house, stopping here and there and then hurrying on. Soon it pa.s.sed around the further corner and disappeared altogether. The wind howled, the rain poured, General Jackson stamped and splashed, and Emily shivered.

At last, just as the watcher had begun to think some serious accident had happened to her courageous relative and was considering starting on a relief expedition, the lantern reappeared.

"Emily!" screamed Mrs. Barnes. "Emily! Come here!"

Emily came, fighting her way against the wind. She found her cousin standing by the corner of the house.

"I've got it," cried Aunt Thankful, panting but triumphant. "I've got it. One of the windows on the other side is unfastened, just as I suspicioned it might be. I think one of us can get in if t'other helps."

She seized the arm of her fellow castaway and together they turned the corner, struggled on for a short distance and then stopped.

"This is the window," gasped the widow. "Here, right abreast of us.

See!"

She held up the lantern. The window was "abreast" of them, but also it was a trifle high.

"It ain't fastened," shouted Thankful; she was obliged to shout in order to be heard. "I could push it open a little mite from the bottom, but I couldn't reach to get it up all the way. You can if I steady you, I guess. Here! Put your foot on that box. I lugged it around from the back yard on purpose."

Standing on an empty and shaky cranberry crate and held there by the strong arm of Mrs. Barnes, Emily managed to push up the lower half of the window. The moment she let go of it, however, it fell with a tremendous bang.

"One of the old-fashioned kind, you might know," declared Thankful. "No weights nor nothin'. We'll have to prop it up with a stick. You wait where you are and I'll go get one. There's what's left of a woodpile out back here; that's where that crate came from."

She hastened away and was back in a moment with a stout stick. Emily raised the window once more and placed the stick beneath it.

"There!" panted her companion. "We've got a gangway anyhow. Next thing is to get aboard. You come down and give me a boost."

But Emily declined.

"Of course I shan't do any such thing," she declared, indignantly. "I can climb through that window a great deal easier than you can, Auntie.

I'm ever so much younger. Just give me a push, that's all."

Her cousin demurred. "I hate to have you do it," she said. "For anybody that ain't any too strong or well you've been through enough tonight.

Well, if you're so set on it. I presume likely you could make a better job of climbin' than I could. It ain't my age that bothers me though, it's my weight. All ready? Up you go! Humph! It's a mercy there ain't anybody lookin' on. . . . There! all right, are you?"

Emily's head appeared framed by the window sash. "Yes," she panted.

"I--I think I'm all right. At least I'm through that window. Now what shall I do?"

"Take this lantern and go to one of the doors and see if you can unfasten it. Try the back door; that's the most liable to be only bolted and hooked. The front one's probably locked with a key."

The lantern and its bearer disappeared. Mrs. Barnes plodded around to the back door. As she reached it it opened.

"It was only hooked," said Emily. "Come in, Auntie. Come in quick!"

Thankful had not waited for the invitation; she was in already. She took the lantern from her relative's hand. Then she shut the door behind her.

"Whew!" she exclaimed. "If it don't seem good to get under cover, real cover! What sort of a place is this, anyhow, Emily?"

"I don't know. I--I've been too frightened to look. I--I feel like a--O, Aunt Thankful, don't you feel like a burglar?"

"Me? A burglar? I feel like a wet dishcloth. I never was so soaked, with my clothes on, in my life. h.e.l.lo! I thought this was an empty house.

There's a stove and a chair, such as it is. Whoever lived here last didn't take away all their furniture. Let's go into the front rooms."

The first room they entered was evidently the dining-room. It was quite bare of furniture. The next, however, that which Emily had entered by the window, contained another stove, a ramshackle what-not, and a broken-down, ragged sofa.

"Oh!" gasped Miss Howes, pointing to the sofa, "see! see! This ISN'T an empty house. Suppose--Oh, SUPPOSE there were people living here! What would they say to us?"

For a moment Thankful was staggered. Then her common-sense came to her rescue.

"Nonsense!" she said, firmly. "A house with folks livin' in it has somethin' in the dinin'-room besides dust. Anyhow, it's easy enough to settle that question. Where's that door lead to?"

She marched across the floor and threw open the door to which she had pointed.