Although Edna was much better the next day, it was thought prudent to keep her indoors. All the guests departed with the exception of her mother, her Aunt Alice and her own self, the house resumed its ordinary quiet and seemed rather an empty place after its throng of Thanksgiving visitors.

"You'd better make up your mind to stay another week, daughter," said grandma to Edna's mother. "This child isn't fit to be out, and won't be for two or three days."

"Oh, I think she will be able to go by Monday," replied Mrs. Conway. "I shouldn't like to keep her out of school so long.""Her health is of much more importance than school," grandma went on. "She is always well up in her studies, isn't she? You remember that I didn't have the usual visit last summer, and as Alice is going to stay we could all have a nice cozy time together."

"But how would things go on at home without me?"

"Plenty well enough. I am sure Lizzie can take care of Henry and the boys."

"I am not so sure about the boys, though I suppose Henry could get along very well, and Celia is in town all through the week."

"Why couldn't Charlie and Frank stay with the Porter boys till we get back?" piped up Edna from her stool by the fire. "You know, mother, that Mrs. Porter has asked and asked them, for her boys have already stayed weeks with us in the summer.""Ye-es, I know," returned Mrs. Conway, a little doubtfully.

"I am sure that is an excellent plan," said grandma, beaming at Edna over her knitting. "Edna will be all the better for a week here, and indeed for a longer time."

"Oh, we couldn't stay longer than next Saturday at the very outside," put in Mrs. Conway hastily. "I'd love to stay, mother dear, but you know a housekeeper cannot be too long away, especially when she has not arranged beforehand to do so."

Grandma nodded at Edna. "We'll consider it settled that you are to stay for another week. Let's have it all arranged, daughter. Call up long distance and let Henry know."

"I promised him, anyhow, that I would let him know to-day how Edna was getting along. He was afraid when he went away that she might be in for a serious illness. I shall be glad to let him know she is better."

"And he will be so glad to hear that, he won't mind your telling him you will stay longer," remarked grandma with a little laugh.

Mrs. Conway went to the telephone and soon it was settled that they were to remain. "I don't know what Uncle Justus will say," Mrs. Conway observed when she reËntered the room. "He will think I am a very injudicious mother to keep you out of school so long."

"Not if you tell him I was sick," returned Edna, who secretly rather enjoyed the prospect of making such an announcement. Like most children, she liked the importance which an illness gave to her small self.

Saturday was an indoors day spent with Serena, Virginia and the big, red book. Sunday, too, Edna was shut in except for the few minutes she was allowed to walk up and down the porch in the sun. She was well wrapped up for this event, and was charged not to put foot on the damp ground.

It had been rather a lonesome morning, with everyone at church except Amanda, but the little girl stood it pretty well. She read aloud to an audience consisting of the two dolls and the three kittens, she sang hymns, in rather a husky voice to be sure, and she stood at the window a long time watching the people pass by on their way to and from church.

In the afternoon, her grandfather took his two daughters to see some relative, Reliance went off to Sunday school, and Edna was left alone with her grandmother who told her stories and sang, to the accompaniment of the melodeon she had used when a little girl. Edna enjoyed this performance very much, but after a while grandma was tired of an instrument that skipped notes and wheezed like an old horse, so they went back to the big chair by the open fire. Grandma continued the singing, rocking Edna in her arms till the child fell fast asleep, the drowsy hum of the tea-kettle, hanging on the crane, helping to make a lullaby. When she woke up it was nearly dark. She heard her mother's voice in the hall and realized that the long Sabbath day was nearly over.

This was the last shut-in day, for the weather was clear and bracing, and, well wrapped up, Edna was able to enjoy it. Reliance always joined her when the work was done in the afternoon, and she led her to the acquaintance of two or three other little girls: Alcinda Hewlett, the daughter of the postmaster, Reba Manning, the minister's daughter, and Esther Ann Taber who lived just across the way. These three were playing with Reliance and Edna in front of Esther Ann's one day when suddenly Esther spoke up: "I know where there is an empty house and anyone can go into it who wants to."

"Where is it?" asked Reba, with interest.

"Down past old Sam Titus's. Don't you know that brown house back there by the orchard?"

"Oh, but it is haunted," cried Alcinda.

"Nonsense, it couldn't be," put in Reba. "My father says there aren't such things as haunted houses, and he ought to know."

The word of such high authority as the minister could not be gainsaid, though the suggestion gave the girls rather a creepy feeling.

"I'll dare you all to go in there with me," spoke up Esther Ann."Oh, Esther Ann, dast we?" said Alcinda.

"Why not? Nobody lives there, and I don't believe anyone owns it, for there is never a person goes in or out, even to do spring cleaning. I heard my mother say that two old ladies lived there, sisters, and they didn't speak to one another for years; that was long ago and since they died nobody knows who the place belongs to, for it isn't ever lived in."

"Like that place where we go to gather chestnuts," spoke up Reba. "Anybody can go there and get all they want. My father said I could go, and that it was all right, and he knows."

"Of course he does," agreed Esther Ann. "Come, who is going with me?"

"I'd as soon go as not," Reliance was the first to speak.

"How do you get in?" asked Alcinda, a little doubtfully."Walk in, goosey. Just open the door and walk in."

"Isn't the door locked?"

"The back door isn't, I tried it one day," replied Esther Ann.

"Why didn't you go in then?" asked Alcinda.

"Well, I was all by myself, and—and—I thought it would be nicer to have some one with me; it always is when you want to explore."

This seemed a perfectly reasonable answer, and the others were reassured, moreover, to a company of five, nothing was likely to happen, they thought, and the spirit of adventure was high in the breast of more than one.

"We'd better start right along," suggested Reliance, "for I have to be back, and Edna mustn't stay out after dark."

"Then, come along, all that want to go," cried Esther Ann, taking the lead.Off they started down the wide street bordered by maples, now shorn of their leaves, but furnishing a carpet of yellow underfoot, past the church, the store, the schoolhouse and on to the old brown house sitting back behind an orchard of gnarled, crooked apple trees. The place was all grown up with weeds, though here and there were signs of a former garden. Up the rotting pillars of the porch a woodbine still clambered, and around the door, lilac bushes kept their green.

Though she had come thus far without mishap, Alcinda's courage suddenly failed her and she turned and ran.

"'Fraid cat! 'Fraid cat!" called Esther Ann after her.

This had the effect of arresting Alcinda in her flight and she stood still.

"Come on," cried Esther Ann.

"I don't want to," called back Alcinda. "I'll wait out here for you.""You don't know what you're missing," Esther Ann called back, trying once more to persuade her.

"I'll wait for you here," repeated Alcinda taking up her position on the horse block by the gate.

"All right," responded Esther Ann, and opened the door which gave easily as she turned the knob.

The four little girls found themselves in a dingy kitchen whose belongings remained as they had been left years before. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling; dust was everywhere. The stove rusty and falling to pieces, still held one or two pots and pans. There was crockery on the dresser, and a lamp on the table.

Esther Ann led the way to the next room. "I don't think this one is a bit interesting," she made the remark as she penetrated further.

"Do you think we ought to go?" whispered Edna to Reliance, as these two lagged a little in the rear.

"Why not? Anyone can come in if it belongs to no one, and they say it doesn't belong to a soul. Nobody lives here and why haven't we a right as well as the rest of the world?"

This argument satisfied Edna and she followed along through the deserted rooms, catching sight of a moth-eaten cover here, a bunch of withered flowers there. Books, long untouched, lay half open on a table in one room, the bed was still unmade in another, and everything was confusion.

"Isn't it lovely and spooky?" said Esther Ann, tingling with excitement. "I'm going to see what is in those bureau drawers."

She darted toward an old-fashioned bureau which stood in the room, flopped down on her knees, and drew out the lower drawer. "Oh, girls," she cried, "look here."

The others gathered around her to see boxes in which were the treasures of a forgotten owner,—strings of beads, half-worn white kid gloves, a fan with ivory sticks, combs, and ornaments of various kinds.

"Let's each take something home to her mother," proposed Esther Ann. "I speak for the fan."

"Oh, Esther, do you dare?" asked Reba.

"Why not? They don't belong to anyone," came back the old argument.

"Some one else will most likely take them if we don't," remarked Reliance conclusively.

This satisfied the less venturesome, and they all sat down on the floor to make a selection. Reba chose a quaint, silver buckle, Reliance selected a mother-of-pearl card-case, Edna decided upon a tortoise-shell comb.

"Wasn't it lovely that we should find them?" said Esther Ann enthusiastically. "It will be so nice to be able to take home presents. I am glad no one else found them before we did."

"I wonder how long the back door has been opened," said Reba. "Has it always been?"

"I don't know. I never tried it till the other day," Esther Ann told her.

After rummaging a little further and discovering frocks and coats of unfamiliar cut hanging in the closets and wardrobes, and coming upon mouldy slippers, and queer-looking hats in other places, they concluded they must go. Alcinda had wearied of waiting and had gone off long before, therefore, the four, after shutting the door behind them, took their way through the leaf-strewn path to the gate, then up the street to their respective homes.

"Don't you think Mrs. Willis will be pleased with the card-case?" asked Reliance, as they were entering the gate at Overlea.

"I'm sure she will. She can use it when she goes to the city to see Uncle Bert, and I know mother will like this comb," returned Edna.

Reliance had no time to present her gift at that moment for Amanda called her to come at once to attend to her duties, remarking that she was late, but Edna hunted up her mother who was upstairs. "Oh, mother, mother," she cried, entering the room where her mother was, "see what I have for you. Isn't it pretty?"

Her mother looked up from the letter she was writing. "What is it, dear? Why, Edna, what a beautiful comb. Where did you get it?""I found it," replied Edna in an assured tone. "We all found lovely things." Then she launched forth upon an account of the afternoon's adventures.

Her mother listened attentively, and when the child had finished her tale, she drew her close to her side, kissing the little, eager face, and saying, "Dear child, I am afraid you have made a mistake. The things were not for you little girls to take."

"But mother, they didn't belong to anyone. They have been there for years and years, and nobody wants them."

"They would have to belong to some one, dear child. We will ask grandma about the house and whose property it is. Let us go find her."

They hunted up Mrs. Willis who listened interestedly to what they had to tell. "The old Topham house," she said when they had finished. "It belonged to two sisters, Miss Nancy and Miss Tabitha Topham. These two lived together for years, but finally they quarreled and each vowed that she would never speak to the other. They died within a few weeks of one another and there were no nearer heirs than distant cousins who have never troubled themselves to look after the place. Old Nathan Holcomb was the nearest neighbor and he used to keep things pretty well secured, but since his death the place has been going to rack and ruin more and more each year. There is some fine, old furniture there and it is a wonder everything in the house has not been stolen before now, but as the place has the reputation of being haunted it has been more or less avoided. I never heard of its being open to the public and I shall speak to some one who will see that it is made secure. Even if it is not valued by the present owners, it should not be left for tramps or any chance vagrant to make use of."

Edna looked down at the comb which she still held in her hand. "What must I do about this?" she asked.

"You must take it back to-morrow and restore it to its place," her mother told her. "I am perfectly sure that not one of you little girls dreamed that she had no right to take the things, but nevertheless they were not yours, and I am very certain that the other mothers will say the same thing."

"Reliance has a lovely card-case," said Edna, regretfully. "She was going to give it to you, grandma."

Mrs. Willis smiled. "I appreciate the spirit, but she must not be allowed to keep it, my dear."

Edna's face sobered. She felt much crestfallen. She wondered what Reba's father would say.She did not have long to wait to find this out for after supper came two young callers who sidled in with rather shamefaced expressions. "Suppose you take Reba and Esther Ann into the dining-room for a little while," suggested grandma encouragingly. "Little folks like to chatter about their own affairs, I well know."

Edna shot her grandma a grateful look and soon was closeted with the little girls. "Oh, Edna, what did your mother say?" began Esther Ann.

"She said I must take back the comb, because I had no right to take it."

"That's just what my mother said," returned Esther Ann.

"My father said it's dishonest," put in Reba, "I mean dishonest to keep it. He knew we didn't mean to steal."

"Oh, Reba, don't say such a dreadful word," said Edna in distress."It would be stealing, you know, if we were to keep the things," continued Reba bluntly. "My father says you couldn't call it by any other name, and that to break into a house is burglary."

This sounded even more dreadful, though Esther Ann relieved the speech of its effect by saying: "But we didn't break in; we just opened the door and walked in. There wouldn't have been anyone to answer if we had knocked."

"That makes me feel kind of shivery," remarked Edna. "I would rather not go back, but I suppose we shall have to."

"Yes, we shall have to," Reba made the statement determinedly.

Therefore, it was with anything but an adventurous spirit that the four little girls went on their errand the next afternoon. There was no poking into nooks and corners this time, but straight to the bureau went they. Solemnly was each article returned to the box from which it was taken. Silently they tip-toed down the dusty stairs and through the silent rooms to the outer air where each drew a sigh of relief. Esther Ann was the first to speak. "There, that's done," she said. "I don't ever want to go there again."

"Nor I."

"Nor I."

"Nor I," chanted the other three.

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