"It reminds me of an impending execution." Sim sighed. "It did its duty, and now it has to give up its life for its country." That trite remark brought on a giggle, but Sim didn't mind.

Arden and Dorothy were snooping about, looking through the cracks in the shutters, and even peered under the bed.

"If they succeed in demolishing the Hall, I'm going to try and buy the picture of that girl downstairs," announced Terry. "She fascinates me!

I'd like to find out more about her."

"Probably d.i.c.k's grandmother could tell you. We must look her up," said Arden, dusting her hands. "Who's that?" she asked suddenly as voices in dispute were heard from somewhere.

"Someone downstairs," Dorothy answered. They listened. One voice, a man's, seemed just very ordinary, not the least bit ghost-like.

"Let's go down and see what's happening," Terry suggested. "We're not afraid of workmen."

They all trooped down in much different spirits than they had come up in.

Now, like weather vanes turning in the wind, their interest was veering to the commotion below.

In the hallway stood the three workmen who had so recently rushed out of the old mansion. There was another, an older man, obviously their employer, with them now.

"Are you men telling me that you're quitting, too?" asked the boss sharply.

"Yes, sir," the leader of the three stated emphatically. "I don't like this place. I'd rather chop down trees all winter than go up on the top floor for a day and start tearing this place down."

"But, man, you're wrong! There's nothing there. You told me this same story last week, and when I looked in, the room was empty," the wrecking contractor declared.

The girls were on the landing above, and he turned to them, seemingly surly and surprised.

"That your car outside? What are you doing in here?" he asked bruskly.

"Yes," answered Sim. "We heard someone shout as we were going past and stopped to see-if we could help."

"Well-what did you find?" the contractor asked, apparently hoping that the statement of disinterested young ladies would impress the frightened men favorably.

"Nothing," Arden admitted. "The room was empty when we looked in.

Although _he_ said," Arden indicated the man she had questioned, "that there was an old lady up there, dead on the bed."

"Yeah-_he_ said," the contractor shrugged. "I know! He had the same story last week. All right," he continued, now addressing the men, "go to the office and get your pay. You're finished! But this house comes down if I have to pull it down myself!"

The laborers turned away and, talking among themselves, gathered up their lunch boxes and coats and hurriedly walked away.

"You girls want to be careful in here," the contractor warned. "Not that I worry about ghosts, but you might get hurt if something fell on you.

They were working on the roof today. This is the second time men have laid down on this job. But I'll have this place leveled to the ground if I have to get my own family to help me." He looked angrily at the ceiling above him and then, taking a big black cigar from his pocket, he bit the end savagely. Glancing about once more he finally strode after the men, leaving the little group of wondering girls to puzzle it out.

CHAPTER VI Introducing Granny

The girls just stood there, shocked by the wrecker's vehement manner. The door was still open, and suddenly, without warning, a face appeared there.

"Oh!" came in a surprised murmur from Arden and her chums as they huddled closer.

Then the brown, weather-beaten countenance of an old woman broke into a queer wrinkled smile. It was an old woman-not a ghost. The girls now realized this.

"Are they gone?" The voice was young and full of amus.e.m.e.nt as an old lady, wearing a dress which was neat but quaint and old-fashioned, stepped inside the hall.

"Yes, they're gone," answered Sim, the first to fall under the charm of Granny Howe, for it was she coming to investigate, apparently.

"I came up to see what the trouble was, but I didn't want to meet that Callahan man," she declared. "He's got such a temper, always having trouble with his men." Then, as though she had just thought of it, she asked who the girls were, what they were doing there, and scarcely giving them time to answer, she told them who she was. Then, still interrupting, Granny Howe guessed they were the "young ladies who had been riding with d.i.c.k: he had told her one of them had red hair," she quaintly revealed.

Terry blushed a little at that and then smiled; it was impossible to take offense at Granny's gentle ways.

"Yes, d.i.c.k took us in here yesterday," Terry answered. "We were frightened away by--"

"Ghosts, I suppose," the old lady chuckled. "d.i.c.k told me about it." She laughed heartily. "Everybody but me seems to think this place is haunted.

Nonsense!"

"But there is something queer about it, isn't there?" pressed Arden.

"I'll be so disappointed if you can explain it all naturally. We have just got to be thrilled, you know."

"My dear," Granny answered, "you're just like Betty, my granddaughter.

She loves to think that Nathaniel Greene or Patience Howe has come back in spirit form to defend the old place."

"Who were they?" Dorothy stepped forward. "Won't you tell us something about them? I'm studying architecture, and, even with the little I know, I can tell that Sycamore Hall must have been designed by a fine artist."

"d.i.c.k told us it would soon all be torn down," Sim supplemented. "We're awfully sorry, and we're not just curious. If there is anything we could do to help--"

Granny's blue eyes swam with tears; she shook her head and looked at each of them in turn, pathetically.

"You're dear young things. I can see that. But I'm afraid we'll have to let Sycamore Hall go." She sighed and patted the wall beside her. "My grandfather and his father before him were queer men. Never had much faith in banks. If they had, the deed or whatever claim papers we need, would not be missing today, and Betty could go on gallivanting around like you girls, instead of sitting cooped up all day in the town library.

And d.i.c.k could be in college--" She left the sentence unfinished and looked away sadly.

Terry decided to change the subject. The old lady seemed so broken. It was too bad, really, that no one could help her.

"Who was the girl in the picture downstairs? I think she is lovely,"

Terry pointed out brightly.

"She was Patience Howe, an ancestor of mine. She lived here in Washington's time. She was a modern girl for those times: brave and strong. She kept that horse of hers right in this house when some of the Continental soldiers tried to steal it," Granny answered Terry, her head high now with a touch of ancestral pride.

"Could we-would you-" Sim faltered-"would you let us come to see you sometime-just to talk? Or would you rather not tell us things? I can understand that the present condition of this old place must make you very sad, and if you can't bear to think about it, we'll know just how you feel." Sim was trying to be diplomatic, but at the same time she hoped the old lady would answer "yes."

"d.i.c.k told us a little of your misfortune, though we had to drag it out of him," Terry added. "That was yesterday, when we heard the footsteps."

"Footsteps!" echoed Granny. "That would be Nathaniel Greene walking in his delirium from the wound in his head. Poor fellow! He loved Patience, and she nursed him a long time, but he died." The old lady was once more lost in ancient memories.

The girls didn't know how to proceed now. Sim's request was still unanswered, and they did so want to learn more. In their hearts they all wanted to help this charming lady and save Sycamore Hall. That would aid Betty and d.i.c.k also.

With a brave effort, Granny checked her dreaming, and putting a tanned old hand on Sim's arm said: "Of course you may come to see me-if your parents will let you. I'm considered somewhat of a recluse by many folk around here. But I'll be glad to have you to tea tomorrow afternoon. All of you. You'll be perfectly safe, and it will brighten things up for me.

Do you know where I live?" she asked briskly.