Mr. Van Meter had advised silence on the matter of the pearls, but told Jannet to report to him if she suspected anyone in particular. “Your Cousin Di is above suspicion, and as for Andy and me, I can assure you that we have not acquired any pearls of late. As to Paulina, I could scarcely imagine such a thing. Drop into the kitchen and get acquainted with the cook, Jannet, and the maids, in a natural way.”

Jannet remembered this, but it was not natural for Jannet to drop into a kitchen, no matter how much she wanted to do it. Such things at school had been expressly forbidden, and at the Marcys’ the members of the family were the cooks. However, she braced herself for the effort and pleased the black cook beyond expression by appearing at the outside door after a canter and saying, “Seems to me I smell something awfully good, Daphne. Don’t tell me that you are baking a cake!”

“Come in, come in, Miss Jannet. How come you ain’t been here befo’?” The shining chocolate-colored face beamed and white teeth shone, as fat Daphne, so inappropriately named, hastened from the stove to pull up a chair for Jannet. “Jes’ you wait, honey,” and Daphne’s fat figure shook as she hurried back to the oven door and opened it with the dish towel in her hand.

“Yum, yum,” said Jannet, as a big pan of ginger cookies, the big, soft kind, was drawn out and the savory odors were wafted her way.

“Has Ah got cake foh suppuh? Sho Ah has! But sumpin’ mus’ atol’ me to mek cookies.” Deftly Daphne took the hot cookies from the pan with a pancake turner and set the brown crock, into which she put them, before Jannet on the table.

This was fine. Jannet daintily took hold of one hot cooky and dropped it immediately, which amused Daphne very much. But that lady was pulling a second pan from the oven and hurrying to put other cookies, rolled and cut and laid in similar pans, into the hot oven. “Git a sauceh f’om the pantry, chile. Them cookies will be cool in a minute.”

The big kitchen of the new part was not very hot, though the day was warm. A pleasant breeze from a window near Jannet ruffled her fair hair and cooled her. She watched Daphne, as the last of the dough was rolled out upon the board and the cookies cut in different shapes with the cutters. There were plenty, and she would eat all she wanted in such a hospitable atmosphere.

Daphne only wanted a listener and began to tell Jannet how she was descended from the slaves that the Dutch settlers had in the old days. “Yaas’m, Ah is practicably a membeh of de fambly. Ma fatheh, he done got lonesome, foh ain’ many colohed folks around heah. So he went to Gawgia, whah a cousin lived, and he ma’ied ma motheh an’ Ah lived in Gawgia. But Ah come back. Yaas,” chuckled Daphne, “Ah wanted to see whah ma fatheh come f’om, an’ yo uncle Pieteh, he put me right in de new kitchen.”

Daphne dropped her voice, looked around and rolled her eyes mysteriously. “His secon’ wife, she was fussin’ about havin’ things the way she wanted ’em, an’ Paulina, she ain’ none so easy to git along with, but ma motheh, she was cook in a big place in Gawgia, so they seed Ah could cook, an’ they lef’ me do it. Has you seen dat slick-headed gal Paulina takes around to help her clean?”

“Oh, yes, of course, Daphne. There are only the two maids.”

“She went away when yo’ uncle’s second wife lef’, but back she come in about a month an’ Paulina got yo’ uncle to take her in again. She’s allays talkin’—don’t like country, don’ like country, but she stays, an’ Hepsy says that Paulina lets her keep a box in the ghos’s attic!”

Again Daphne’s eyes rolled and she made deprecatory gestures with her capable hands and the towel, as once more she bent to the oven.

Jannet, her mouth full of delectable, warm cooky, thought that this was growing more interesting. “She helps clean Jan’s den sometimes, doesn’t she?”

“Yaas’m, but Ah doesn’t think Paulina likes huh. Sometimes Ah thinks she’s got sumpin’ on Paulina. Anyhow Ah hea’d yo’ cousin Jan ask Paulina that once. Ah didn’ know what he meant at fus’.”

“That’s modern slang, Daphne,” laughed Jannet. “Jan’s a great boy. Where are the girls, anyway? I haven’t seen them around.”

“Takin’ they aftehnoon off.”

“I see. Well, I do thank you Daphne for letting me have the grand cookies and not minding my bothering you. I’ll run along now.”

“Yo’ ain’ no botheh no way. Come in any time. Oh, say, Ah’ll be frostin’ mah big cake in about an houah. Don’ yo’ want to tas’ the frostin’ out o’ the pan?”

“Yes, I do, Daphne. I’ll be back to lick the pan all right!”

Laughing, Jannet ran out of the back door again and around to the back of the old house. Already she had a point or two. The girl Vittoria, a harmless-looking, slim young woman, with small black eyes and a smooth black bob, revealed when her cap was off, was frequently about the halls of the old building, dusting, or doing some other legitimate work. She had been here, perhaps, that summer when the telegram,—no, she must be getting crazy. That was too long ago. Vittoria was too young,—but was she so very young? How long ago did this separation between her uncle and his wife occur? Cousin Di could tell her. She would overcome her hesitation to ask these questions, since it was not curiosity that prompted her.

But it was Daphne that told her, when she went back to the kitchen for the frosting, just in the “nick o’ time,” Daphne told her, handing her the pan with a generous leaving of the soft white mixture. Daphne had been thinking, too, and wanted to ask Miss Jannet about the ghost in the old house and if she had seen it. No, she had not seen it, exactly, Jannet told her, but she had heard what Paulina said was a ghost.

“Ah nebbah hea’d it but once,” impressively said Daphne, raising her two black hands, “an’ once wuz enough! Befo’ they tuk the wings off’n the ol’ house, Ah slep there one time; an’ in the night,—whoo! sich a screechin’ as Ah hea’d! Ah puts mah haid undeh mah kivehs—an’ Ah stuffs mah fingehs in mah eahs, an’ Ah nevah knowed nuthin’ mo’ ontil mawnin’. But Ah nevah let on Ah was skeered outside de fambly! A no-count hand oveh at Clyde’s sez to me, ‘Ah hea’d yo’ wuz skeered by yo-alls’ ghos’ odder night, Daphne,’—an Ah sez to him, ‘Huh,’ Ah sez, ’ain’ nuffin to skeeah a pusson ’bout ouah fambly ghos’,’ and Ah puts mah haid high an’ walks off!”

“I’m glad that you are loyal to our family, Daphne,” said Jannet. “How long is it since my uncle’s second wife went away?”

“’Bout two yeahs. Yo’ uncle, he put up with it foh a long, long time. She’d have what Paulina called ‘hysterics,’ but I calls plain tempeh. They wuz maghty still about it and Paulina, she would git the camphire an’ things an’ go an’ tek keeah o’ Mis’ Van Meteh. Sich goin’s on! An’ Vittoria sez that a ghos’ sobs an’ ca’ries on jis lak her now.”

“Why, is she dead, too?”

“Yaas’m, Ah s’pose so. Yaas’m, she mus’ a passed away.”

It was a sad subject, but it was all that Jannet could do to keep her face straight at Daphne’s mournful shaking of the head that accompanied her last remark.

“It’s all too bad, Daphne. I feel sorry for Uncle Pieter.”

“Yo’ uncle, he is a ve’y high-handed man, but ev’body in his house gits well paid.”

Here was one tribute to Uncle Pieter, at least. Jannet ran off to her room carrying a large piece of cake which Daphne had insisted on cutting for her, saying, too, that the cake would be cut before being served anyhow. The first adventure had been a pleasant one; but how would she fare with Paulina, whom she intended to “beard” in her room that evening? Unless she were shut out and the door locked upon her, she would have a talk with Paulina about the ghost and anything else that seemed important. Perhaps Paulina could recall that time when Uncle Pieter was away and the telegram came. There was no use in hesitating, or in waiting. She might be asking questions of the very “villainess” who would take advantage of her to conceal the truth, but one had to risk something.

Out of the confusion in Jannet’s mind, facts about the family were taking shape. For her uncle’s sake she would like to find out who had prevented him from receiving the message from his sister, though she believed what he had told her. But nothing could make any difference now to her mother, and since Uncle Pieter had found her at last, she would try to make up to him for the old misunderstanding, as he had promised to make up to her for the years without a family.

Then there was the very important matter of finding out who had taken the pearls, or, at least of recovering them, if possible. To stop the nonsense about a ghost and to prevent the repetition of such annoying disturbances made another of Jannet’s purposes. She, too, suspected Jan, yet Paulina might have had a hand in it, and how about the maid, Vittoria? If she had a box in the old attic,—well, that was to be considered. And all other things aside, how thrilling it would be to discover some secret passage and perhaps find out why it had been made. Jannet could scarcely wait for Nell’s company to go away. She made an occasional trip to the attic, but did nothing except peep into one or more of the trunks.

Evening came. As Cousin Andy had once said, when the Van Meters had anything to do they did it, and in that spirit, Jannet brought herself to knock upon Paulina’s door.

Paulina opened it a crack and looked out with the expression of “who wants me now?”

“May I come in, Paulina?” softly asked Jannet. “I just want to see you a minute.”

Paulina hesitated, but was taken by surprise and had no good excuse ready. “Well, come in, then,” she said, rather ungraciously, opening the door widely enough for Jannet to enter.

“I’ll not stay but a few minutes, Paulina, if you are busy. I suspect that you are glad to get to yourself after a day of looking after other people.” Jannet helped herself to a chair, a straight one as uncompromising as Paulina looked. But Jannet’s introduction implied some appreciation of Paulina’s work, and Paulina’s face relaxed a little from its stoniness.

Jannet kept right on, not looking around Paulina’s bedroom, though she could see how clean and plain it was, just like Paulina. “I haven’t had any chance to talk with you, Paulina, about things; and as I am going to make my home here, there are some things that are important, you know, like whether my dear room is safe or not and everything like that. You know that I didn’t enjoy that last queer time a bit. There was some one in my room, Paulina. Ghosts don’t pull comforters off from beds.”

“That is just what our ghost does.”

“Honest, Paulina?”

“Your own mother told me that once, but I never knew of its being done to any one since I have been working for the family and that is many a long year. Your mother knew something about the history.”

Paulina was sitting back in her one rocking chair, her arms folded, her face almost expressing enjoyment. Good. Jannet felt that she had struck the right vein,—to come asking about ghosts rather than announcing disbelief too decidedly.

“What did mother tell you, Paulina?”

“It is too long ago for me to remember, but she told me the old story about the Van Meter ghost that clanked a sword and pulled the comforter from a bed and scared the Tory soldiers in the days of the Revolution.”

“Why, I feel flattered to have the ghost come back to me after so long. Does Jan know the story?”

“Yes. I told him.”

“H’m. But I can’t understand about the blue comforter,” meditated Jannet. Paulina did not follow her thought, naturally, and waited. “But you have talked about ‘Her,’ Paulina. Who was she?”

“One, the one I mean, was mourning, after her husband was killed in the war, and pined away. The dog howled and the wind blew and there was queer music in the air the night he was killed and she got up from her bed and walked all over crying. The other I don’t know, but it sounds the way your uncle’s wife carried on. Somebody has told you about her, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Jannet, glad that Daphne had told her. “Did you see the light in the wall, Paulina, that night?”

Paulina surprised Jannet by leaning forward with a startled look. “Was there a light in the wall, too? That was in your mother’s story about the Revolutionary times.”

“I’m not sure just where the light was, Paulina, whether it was in the wall or on the wall, but part of the time it looked as if it shone through something. All I could think of was a secret passageway between my room and somewhere, but I can’t find it. Say, Paulina, who goes into the attic besides you and me?”

“I let Vittoria keep a box there. It is the one with a padlock. She is saving up her money and you must not say a word about it, because she is afraid it will be stolen.”

“Why doesn’t she take it to a bank?”

“She will some time. Now do you know everything you came to ask?”

“Yes, Paulina, and I beg your pardon if you do not like it. But I had a talk with Uncle Pieter this morning and,—oh, yes, I forgot one thing. I found out that a letter and a telegram came for Uncle Pieter from my mother long ago, after he had gone to Europe, after my grandmother’s death. Do you remember anything about it? He did not know about them, of course, at the time. Who was here, then?”

“All the rest of us; Andy, though, was on a visit. He never stayed with his stepmother if he could help it. Vittoria was here. Mrs. Van Meter had her since she was fifteen or sixteen. Vittoria isn’t as young as she looks.” Paulina thought a moment, her stolid face looking more intelligent than usual. “I can’t remember any letter, but I do remember answering a telegram for Mrs. Van Meter when she was beginning one of her conniption fits over nothing that I could see. Vittoria brought her the telegram and she read it. Her face got all red and she stamped her foot. ‘The idea! The idea!’ She said, ‘what do we care? Oh, I’m going to faint, Vittoria. Help me to the davenport, Paulina!’

“I told her that I guessed she could get there by herself, with Vittoria there, and I ran for the stuff we used when she went into hysterics. When I came back, Vittoria took it from me and told me to attend to the man that brought the telegram out from the village. Something was wrong with the telephone. He was impatient and pretty soon I went to the door to ask Vittoria if Mrs. Van Meter wanted to send a reply back.

“But Mrs. Van Meter sat up, then, all wild, and still mad. Then she told me to write an answer. ‘Say “No use,” Paulina, “No use,” and sign it “Van Meter”!’ Then she went off into her hysterics again. I sent the answer, of course; and when the man asked where to, I told him I didn’t know, but to fill it out to wherever the telegram came from, and he said he would. He told me how much it would be and I paid him.”

Paulina stopped and Jannet sat quite still for a moment. Then she rose. “Thank you, Paulina, so much, for all that you have told me. I have told Uncle Pieter that I will make my home with him and not go back to school next winter, so I hope that you will like me at least as much as you do Jan. I’ll try to be as good as possible myself, but I have a lot to learn, I suppose. Did you like my mother, Paulina?”

“Yes,” bluntly replied Paulina, looking uncomfortable.

Jannet was only too thankful to have escaped anything unpleasant. She did not mind Paulina’s lack of sentiment, though she rather felt that she had shown a little too much. She really was not silly, she told herself, as she walked away from Paulina’s door.

Paulina’s surprise and interest could not have been feigned. She did not know about the lights, then. She had not staged the performance. And now she had the answer that had been sent, she felt, to some telegram which had preceded the one which her uncle had found. But Jannet scarcely knew how she would tell him this story, about his wife. Perhaps she could write it to him,—no, that would not do at all! Perhaps he would ask Paulina, then, at her suggestion. That was it.

A telephone call to Nell elicited the information that the company had gone and that Nell could spend the afternoon any time that Jannet wanted her. When Mrs. Holt was later consulted, she suggested that Jannet ask Nell to come to spend the day and night with her. “Your uncle, Andy and I are invited to a grown-up affair to-morrow night, Jannet, and we’ll be home very late, it is likely. I don’t want Andy to miss it, for it will do him good to get out as much as possible, instead of thinking too much. I am going to get his sweetheart here this summer, Jannet, and now that he is so much better perhaps he will be reasonable, especially when he finds that she still cares for him.

“Paulina will get supper for you and Nell and herself and we’ll let Daphne and the maids look after themselves. Daphne will be glad to get off.”

So it was arranged, very quickly, that Nell was to stay with Jannet again.