  Arden was on the verge of disclosing something when that knock sounded. So excited were the girls over what had happened and what Harry Pangborn had told them that, for a moment, they were startled. Then Sim, the first, seemingly, to return to the very practical present, called: “Come in!” Moselle entered. “’Scuse me,” she said, “but the horse-boy is downstairs.” “The horse-boy?” repeated Sim. “Do you mean somebody with a cold?” asked Arden mischievously glancing at Harry. “No’m, Miss Arden. I means that boy you-all go riding with on horses.” “Oh, Dick Howe!” said Terry. “Whom I have yet to have the pleasure of meeting,” murmured Dot. “What can he want?” murmured Sim. “I wonder if anything could have happened to Granny—or at the Hall?” questioned Arden. “Did he say what he wanted, Moselle?” Sim asked, and Moselle let her eyes rove about the room containing the four pretty girls and the very presentable Harry Pangborn. Perhaps Moselle wondered at a gentleman not a physician visiting in Terry’s room, but the cook said nothing about that. She merely remarked: “He didn’t say what he wanted—just asked to see one of the young ladies.” “Which one?” asked Terry, laughing, for her ankle pain was much relieved by the comforting bandages and the liniment the doctor had used. “He didn’t say, Miss Terry, but I ’spects he meant Miss Sim.” “I’d better go down,” Sim decided. “I hope,” remarked Arden as Sim started downstairs, “that Dick’s call has nothing to do with Granny Howe being ill, or anything like that. What I was just going to tell you has to do with Granny.” “I had a glimpse of her near her little cottage as I was leaving the Hall,” said Harry. “She seemed to be all right, bustling about in the snow like some Colonial housewife. Very picturesque.” “Hurry back, Sim, and tell us,” begged Dot. “I’m dying with curiosity, and if he’s good-looking and young and all that sort of thing, he might come around oftener. You hinted there might be some young men when you asked me out for the holidays,” she said, mischief again sparkling in her rather fascinating eyes. “What do you call this nice young man?” Arden pointed a slim pink finger at Harry who bowed gallantly. “One among four?” questioned Dot with upraised eyebrows. “I know some chaps——” Harry began, but Arden interrupted with: “Don’t pay any attention to Dot. She’s too theatrical.” Sim had gone down and was returning quickly. “It wasn’t anything,” she reported. “Dick just wanted to know when we were going to ride again. He said business was rather slow at Ellery’s, and it was Dick’s idea to start out and drum up a little trade. He does get a commission, just as I expected. Shall we go riding again?” “I’d love it!” Dot declared. “But—Terry,” Sim reminded them, going over to the bed and smoothing back the invalid’s hair, rather movie-like. “Oh, don’t mind me!” Terry was quick to say. “I think a little rest and quiet will do me good. I shall probably doze off after my ride with Santa Claus, that was invigorating,” and she laughed a little, just like herself. “Well, what about it, girls?” asked Sim. “Dick is waiting for an answer. I think a ride would do us good. He says he’ll bring the horses around here—he’ll have another groom to help him.” “I’m not very favorably disposed toward Mr. Ellery after that talk I heard when Nick, or somebody, hinted that the liveryman had some underhand connection with the old Hall,” spoke Arden. “It may have been nothing, but, somehow, I don’t trust Mr. Ellery too far.” “You can’t blame what he does or says, or anything that the mysterious Nick does, on the horses,” Sim declared. “And it would mean something to Dick. Besides, I would like a ride. Why not?” “I might come along as second groom,” suggested Harry. “Oh, please do!” begged Dorothy impulsively. She, as Sim said to Arden later, seemed fast making friends with the young man. Dorothy showed her mother’s theatrical influence. “Then I’ll tell Dick to bring around four horses,” decided Sim. “You’re sure you won’t mind, Terry?” “Not a bit. But I do wish Arden would tell us the big secret before you go. I’ll have something to think about, then, while you’re gone.” “Oh, I think it will be the loveliest thing!” Arden said, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “I’m so glad I thought of it. The idea came to me when Harry was telling about his plan, and the park commissioners, to give Granny more time to prove her claim—or to help her with legal advice or something like that. Anyhow, it looks like new hope for Granny. And what I suggest is that we give her a little party, say on Christmas Eve, and tell her the good news. I believe it will be the best present she could want.” “Say, that is an idea!” exclaimed Sim. “Just like you, Arden,” said Dot. “Does that appeal to you, Harry?” Sim wanted to know. “Splendid!” “And my ankle will be enough better, then, so I can come to the party,” Terry murmured. “Would you have it here or at Granny’s cottage?” Sim asked. “I think here would be nice, as we have the holly now.” “Why not have it in the Hall?” asked Dorothy. “I think that would be the most appropriate place for such an announcement.” “Good!” said Harry. “But could we?” Sim asked. “I mean, wouldn’t it be bleak and cold? The weather is likely to be stormy now for quite a while. It is still snowing.” “I love to ride in a snowstorm,” was Dot’s remark. “It would be just like one of those funny old melodramas, riding back home.” Dorothy was best when she was theatrical. “But about using the Hall for Granny’s Christmas party,” suggested Harry, “I think nothing could be nicer. And from what I saw of the place in my investigations today, I think that big lower room could be very well used for it. By keeping the windows and doors closed and building a big fire on the hearth it would be warm enough; simply swell. That hearth will take in a whole fence rail. Then there are some old tables, chairs, boxes, and chests scattered through the old mansion that we could bring to that room and make it look like Christmas in the very old days. No trouble at all.” “Then we’ll do it!” Sim decided. “Arden, you get the prize of a fur-lined Santa Claus suit in which to make the announcement to Granny!” “Oh, won’t it be fun!” sighed Terry. “How long until Christmas?” and she began to count on her fingers. The ankle was now being all but forgotten. “Then we’ll regard it as settled,” said Arden. “I’m so glad I thought of this, and so glad you mentioned having it in the Hall, Dot. Things are looking distinctly brighter; in fact, they begin to shine!” “In spite of the fact that we haven’t solved the mystery,” added Sim. “But we shall!” predicted Harry. “I’m going to be around here for some time after Christmas on that bird-sanctuary business, and the mystery is going to be solved before the birds settle down.” “Let us help,” suggested Arden. “Don’t forget we had ‘firsties,’” she finished, dimpling like a little girl. “I’ll let you help, gladly,” Harry answered. “In fact, I’m counting on it.” “Well, if we’re going riding, let’s go!” proposed Sim. “Poor Dick is waiting. Probably he wants the commission he’ll get out of our business to buy Christmas presents with.” The girls scurried out to get into riding togs. Harry Pangborn was wearing what would be all right for his ride as the rig had been chosen for his woodland work. He looked well in windbreaker coat, cap, leather puttees, and his knickers were genuine Scotch plaid. Sim, before going to dress, sent Moselle to tell Dick to bring around four horses and then supplied Terry with books to read in bed while she would be alone. “Sure you won’t be lonesome?” Sim asked, smoothing down the spread. “Not at all. I shall probably read myself to sleep,” Terry promised. Dick and a younger helper were soon back with the mounts, and they all started gayly out in the snow, which was falling faster than ever. But it was a dry, fine snow that did not melt on one’s garments or get in wet around one’s neck. Even the horses seemed to like it; this friendly snow. “Which way shall we take?” asked Sim as they started out. “Let’s go round by way of the Hall and—have a look at the prospects,” suggested Arden, warning her companions with a look not to say too much about Granny’s Christmas party before Dick. The details were to be a sort of surprise, though the old lady might have to be told that the young people wanted to use that one big room in her former home for a little festivity. The Hall being locally famous, that arrangement would be reasonable enough. “We can bring Granny over from her cottage at the last minute,” Arden had said when discussing this angle of it. “There’s nothing doing at the Hall now,” said Dick when the horses had been turned in the direction of Jockey Hollow. “What do you mean?” asked Sim. “I mean Callahan has called all the work off.” “Why is that?” Arden wanted to know. “Perhaps new and worse ghosts,” suggested Dorothy quizzically. “No, that isn’t it,” the young groom answered. “I believe he couldn’t get the right kind of men to work, it’s so near Christmas. They would work half a day and then want to stop. I didn’t hear anything more about the ghosts—not since my sister found what she thought was a dead man in the cellar,” and Dick laughed, recalling that incident. “That certainly was something to find,” murmured Arden. “Poor Betty! She was so frightened. I’ll never forget how she shook.” “She’s all over it now, though,” her brother declared. “But it did give her quite a shock. She talked about it a lot afterwards. No, I don’t believe in that ghost business myself. It’s just a lot of tricks those workmen think funny,” he suggested boyishly. “Tell him about the scream you heard, Harry,” suggested Dorothy to the young man she was riding beside. As if that might change Dick’s opinion. “No, I think I’d better not,” Harry answered. “I want to find that screamer first. Then, I’ll tell the big story.” They broke into a brisk canter. It was a splendid ride in the friendly snow, and in due time they reached the old Hall. “Hello!” exclaimed Dick as he saw the now almost obliterated footprints leading into the mansion. “Somebody has been here after all. I wonder if any of the men can be working, after what Callahan told me?” “Probably just some curiosity-seeker went in,” suggested Harry with a warning look at the girls. “Only one man, according to footprints,” he said. “I guess that’s right,” Dick agreed. “Well, it shouldn’t worry me. This place doesn’t belong in our family any more.” He could not repress a little sigh of regret as they rode on past the historic place that had been in the possession of the Howes so many years. “How does this ghost business affect your grandmother’s cousin, Mrs. Tucker?” asked Arden of Dick. “Oh, Cousin Viney? She just laughs at it. Doesn’t believe in it at all. She’s bitter, though, at us losing the place. Rants about the carelessness of some ancestor who either lost the deeds or else hid them so well neither he nor anybody else was ever able to find them—deeds, a missing will, or whatever papers are called for in a case like this,” Dick said, a little confused in attempting to make that complicated speech. “So Cousin Viney doesn’t believe in ghosts?” asked Harry in an offhand sort of way. “No more than Granny does. Anyhow, Cousin Viney is away now. She goes and comes, visiting around among various relatives. She went away this morning—didn’t say when she would come back.” “It’s just as well,” said Sim to Dot. “Then we won’t have to ask her to Granny’s little party. And I don’t like Cousin Viney very much, anyhow.” “She did rather give me the creeps,” Dot said, “so sharp and ‘sassy.’” They rode on into Jockey Hollow while the snowflakes continued to sift down upon them, almost hiding the ghostly Hall behind a thin, shifting, white curtain. |
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