Terry agreed that it was. The two chums finished dressing and went out in the hall to go down for breakfast, which was evidently being prepared by Moselle and her dark daughter, as testified to by the rattling of dishes and the aroma of bacon and coffee floating up.

As Terry and Arden were walking toward the stairs, they heard the door of Sim's room open, and Dot came out, wearing a robe. She held her finger on her lips as a signal for silence.

"What's the matter?" whispered Arden.

"She has a bad headache," Dot replied. "She was awake a good part of the night, and she's just fallen asleep. I thought I'd slip down and tell Moselle not to make any more noise than she can help. Sim needs quiet."

"Oh, that's too bad!" murmured Terry. "I wonder if there's anything we can do?"

"No, I gave her some aspirin. She'll be all right. If you're going down, would you mind having that little slave bring me up some coffee? That's all I want. I'll be waiting out in the hall so I won't disturb Sim by opening the door too often."

"It's too bad," murmured Terry again. "Can't you come down and have some breakfast with us?"

"No, coffee is all I'll take. Some storm, isn't it?"

"Terry and I were going out for a walk in it," whispered Arden, "and to gather some holly branches to decorate the place here for Christmas. We hoped you and Sim would come, but if she has a headache I guess we'll postpone the trip."

"No reason why you should," Dorothy argued, walking to the head of the stairs with the others to avoid whispering so much outside Sim's door.

"I'll stay here with her. I don't feel much like walking in the snow, though I love fresh-grown holly. Get all you can, and by the time you come back I'll be ready to help decorate, and perhaps Sim's head will be better."

"All right," agreed Arden. "I have my mind set on it, and I don't like to change. You'll come, Terry?"

"Oh, yes."

Dot had her coffee, the other girls making a more substantial breakfast, and then, leaving Sim still asleep and Dot on guard, Terry and Arden set out into the storm. The flakes were coming down rapidly now, dry, small flakes that seemed to presage a heavy fall. It was not yet deep, but would be, as none was melting.

"Oh, it's so lovely!" murmured Arden raising her face to let the snowflakes melt on it.

"You seem to have quite a yen on for storms," remarked Terry, laughing.

"I always have had. Now we must step out. It's quite a distance to the old Hall, and it's slow walking in the snow."

"I'm equal to it," declared Terry, bracing up and dashing forward.

They trudged along, laughing and talking-talking princ.i.p.ally of the advent of Harry Pangborn and his declaration that he would do some real investigating of the mysterious happenings in Jockey Hollow.

"I wonder if he'll really discover anything," said Terry as they neared the place.

"He might," was Arden's opinion. "He has a good head, I believe."

"He has nice teeth, anyhow."

"To bite ghosts with, I suppose!" laughed Arden.

"Yep! Well, I can see the place now," remarked Terry as they topped a little rise. "There doesn't seem to be any men working there, though-no plaster dust floating out of the windows as usual when men are tearing down an old building."

"It is quiet," Arden admitted as they walked in front of the Hall. "I suppose Mr. Callahan is wondering what sort of workmen to get next, since his white-collar cla.s.s has left, apparently."

"Look!" Terry suddenly exclaimed, pointing. "Footprints in the snow. At least one man has gone in there!"

"That is very evident, Robinson Crusoe," laughed Arden. "As your man Friday, I agree with you. Someone has gone in, and one man only, judging by the footprints. And as these are plain footprints and not little scratchy marks in the snow I think we may safely argue that it is no ghost."

"Who said it was?" countered Terry. "But what can one workman do in tearing down such a big house?"

At that moment a head was thrust out of an upper and partly demolished window and a voice cheerily called:

"Good-morning, girls!"

"Oh, it's Harry Pangborn!" exclaimed Arden.

"h.e.l.lo, Harry!" greeted Terry. Since the episode at Cedar Ridge, the friends had begun to call one another by their first names.

"What are you doing in there?" Arden called back.

"Investigating ghosts, as I promised. Want to help me?"

"We're after holly," said Terry, "in the back woods."

"Well, you have time for both ghosts and holly too, perhaps."

"No, thank you," Arden decided, shaking some of the snow off her hat. "I think you can do your investigating alone. I mean, you come to it with an open mind. Terry or I might suggest something to you, in our eagerness, and that would throw you off the track." They were so near the Hall they could talk easily to the young man at the window above.

"There is something in what you say," admitted Harry with an a.s.sumed judicial air. "I shall take it under consideration. Well, then, I'll go on investigating by myself, reserving the right to call at Sim's house to see you all, later, and report."

"Yes, do!" invited Terry.

"Have you found anything yet?" Arden wanted to know.

"I only arrived a few minutes ago. Well, on with the ghost hunt! Stop in if you come past this way, and I'll help you carry the holly branches home."

"Oh, that will be fine!" called Terry. "I was wondering how we could carry enough to make really satisfactory decorations."

"But I draw the line at a Yule Log!" stipulated the young millionaire, whose car, the girls now noticed, was parked near a big clump of lilac bushes that nearly concealed it. He had driven in from a direction opposite that which they had traversed and so they had not seen the tire marks.

"Did you come here this morning just to investigate?" pressed Arden as young Pangborn started away from the window and she and Terry were about to walk on.

"Well, I came to look into the matter of bird-feeding stations for the sanctuary Dr. Thandu wants to establish here, and so I decided I might also take in the Hall. It's quite a place."

"Killing two birds with one stone," quoted Terry tritely.

"Exactly! See you later!"

He waved a hand to them and disappeared back into the strange old house.

It was a little farther to the small grove, where the holly trees and bushes grew, than Arden realized and it was perhaps ten minutes after their good-bye to the ghost-hunter that the two girls found a thicket sufficiently large to ensure a good supply of branches with their lovely red berries and dark, p.r.i.c.kly, glossy leaves. Holly is always just holly; hard, sharp, but magnificent on its trees.

They had good pocket knives and soon cut off a quant.i.ty-more, Arden suggested, than they could carry even with the help of Mr. Pangborn, when Terry, glancing off toward a little clearing, suddenly cried: