  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 amusement 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 Dick: 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, Dick took us in here yesterday,” Terry answered. “We were frightened away by——” “Ghosts, I suppose,” the old lady chuckled. “Dick 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.” “Dick 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 Dick 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.” “Dick 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 Dick 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. The girls said that they did not and began thanking her and assuring her that no one would in the least object to their visit. They were all talking at once, so Granny smiled and held up a gentle restraining hand. “You sound so alive and gay—I know what you’re trying to tell me. It’s all right. I’ll enjoy having you. But now I must go back. We are baking today, and I stayed longer than I should have.” She stood at the door as if indicating to them that they too must leave. The girls were glad enough to walk out into the sunshine, and presently they climbed back into the car. Granny chuckled as they squeezed in and waved “good-bye” as Sim backed away. “There, Dot, how did that strike you?” Arden breathlessly asked when they were safely on their way. “Do you still think it’s a put-up job on our part?” “Arden, I’m sorry,” answered the girl. “I’m entirely convinced, and I’m on your side. Wasn’t she fascinating?” “Just like someone out of a play,” Terry exclaimed. “Isn’t it a shame? Taking her own house and land away from her! If I were a ghost I’d come to her rescue, too! Even if I did have to break up a wrecking gang.” “What could those men have seen?” Sim wondered aloud. “They certainly were scared.” “When we get home we’ll have to consider each person, the way detectives do, and reason out who would be likely to know, or be responsible for those manifestations,” Arden suggested. “Shall we? Let’s write it out—and see if we can solve the mystery systematically.” This suggestion met with whole-hearted approval, and all the rest of the way home the girls talked of the best method of “detecting.” Sim stepped on the gas and bounced the girls unmercifully, she was so anxious to get home, but they clung together and didn’t complain. They had something new to do now and could hardly wait to begin. A first-rate mystery to be unraveled, in the most up-to-date detective fashion. It would be through the method of clues and eliminations of clues, and the girls were “all for it.” |
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