When the boys drove Marjorie and Ethel into the yard of the Harris house, they found everything absolutely quiet. The doors were still locked, the occupants evidently still asleep.

“Have you a key?” asked John of the girls.

“No, not with us,” replied Ethel. “But we’re going to wake everybody up anyhow. They’ll surely want to hear what happened.”

“Just wait till Marie Louise hears about it!” said Marjorie, now able to laugh at the incident. “My, but she’ll hold it over us!”

“Do you intend to inform the police?” asked John.

“No, I’d rather not,” answered Marjorie. “Because they wouldn’t believe us any more than they did Anna.”

They all got out of the car and Jack ran up the steps to ring the bell. In a minute or two Mrs. Munsen answered it—fully dressed. She was just about to come downstairs to start her preparations for the day.

“Jack Wilkinson!” she exclaimed, in apprehension. Then, a moment later, she caught sight of Ethel and Marjorie and her fears vanished.

“Will you take in two wanderers?” asked Jack, with a smile. “We must go right back to the tea-house.”

As soon as Mrs. Munsen looked into the girls’ faces, she knew that they had been through an unpleasant experience. Her motherly heart went out to them instantly, and she put her arms about their shoulders.

“You’re neither of you hurt?” she asked, first of all.

“No! No!” replied Marjorie, reassuringly. “But we have been frightened a little.”

“Come out in the kitchen while I make you some coffee,” she suggested; “and then you can tell me the whole story.”

While Mrs. Munsen busied herself with the preparations for breakfast, Marjorie related the incidents of their adventure—the strange knocking, the voice of warning, and finally their own flight after she had fired three times into the cellar. She mentioned their surprise and relief in finding the boys waiting for them, and their joy at being home again.

The older woman listened to the story with an increasing sense of alarm; now she was wholly convinced that the tea-house was overshadowed by some evil presence. She could not find words strong enough to express her opinions.

“Girls, you must take this warning,” she said, her voice full of anxiety. “From now on, we must do nothing foolish. It is positively unsafe to tamper with matters like this.”

Marjorie did not make any attempt to oppose her; in fact both girls were too perplexed and too exhausted to know what they really thought. They drank their coffee gratefully in silence.

By the time the other scouts were downstairs and breakfast was ready, the boys returned from their trip to the tea-house, but without evidence. Mrs. Munsen asked them to remain for the meal—an invitation which they both instantly accepted.

Ethel related the incidents over again for the benefit of those who had not heard them, and the girls listened in terrified amazement. It seemed all the more incredible because two such self-possessed girls as Ethel Todd and Marjorie Wilkinson had been participants.

“Now maybe you will believe Anna!” remarked Marie Louise, triumphantly.

“Yes, I believe something happened to Anna, all right!” assented Marjorie. “But I still don’t acknowledge that a spirit is the cause.”

“Oh, Marjorie,” exclaimed Mrs. Munsen, in a pained tone. “How can you doubt so—with such facts as these before you?”

“Well, the main question,” said Florence, “is—what are we going to do about it?”

“Yes. Shall we close the tea-house?” asked Alice.

“I should say not!” announced Marjorie, vehemently. “We’re going to stick it out till we solve this mystery!”

“But if anybody really is afraid, I think she better go home,” put in Ethel. “It’s too serious a thing to force any girl to go through with—”

“Oh, certainly!” Marjorie hastened to add.

“Anyway,” remarked Alice, “whatever we decide to do later, there’s only one thing to do now—let Ethel and Marjorie get some rest. And that reminds me, don’t forget our picnic today. We’ll go just the same, won’t we?”

“Oh, certainly!” replied Ethel, immediately.

The picnic, which had been arranged through the generosity of Agnes Taylor and a group of her friends who had offered to substitute for the girls, was to be held at an outlying pleasure park. All of the scouts who were not Philadelphians had been anxious to visit this renowned spot, but, on account of the rush of business, had been unable to find a time. Marjorie happened to express her regret one day in Agnes’s presence, and the girl cheerfully offered to serve with her friends in the scouts’ places.

Since both Marjorie and Ethel felt sure that nothing unusual would happen at the tea-house during the hours of daylight, they resolved to say nothing of their early morning adventure to the girls in charge. There seemed to be no reason to arouse their fears unnecessarily.

After several hours’ good sleep, Marjorie and Ethel appeared at the luncheon table as bright and as fresh as if they had gone through no harrowing experience. Both girls even insisted upon helping with the preparations for the picnic supper.

“The boys still want to go,” remarked Alice, as she packed the waxed-paper sandwiches into a basket. “John made one more plea as he left the house this afternoon.”

Marjorie was amused at his persistence, but she showed no signs of relenting.

“Nobody but Roger!” she said, firmly. “He has to come or Doris would pass away.”

“That’s just what Jack and John denounced as unfair,” continued Alice. “They said if Roger could come, they could!”

“But Roger’s married. And besides, even he isn’t expected for supper.”

“I’m putting in a little extra,” observed Mrs. Munsen, “in case he should turn up unexpectedly. You don’t want the poor boy to go hungry!”

“Oh, Mrs. Munsen, you’re entirely too kind-hearted!” said Marjorie. “Let the man go to a restaurant for once; it wouldn’t hurt him!”

“What’s all this I hear about my husband?” inquired Doris, from the kitchen. “Don’t you dare abuse him!”

“Nobody’s abusing him,” laughed Ethel. “Come on, girls, hurry! It’s after two, and if we don’t get to the park early, we won’t have time to try all the amusements before supper.”

“And if we don’t try them before we eat, I’m sure we won’t want to afterwards,” remarked Alice.

“And no matter which way we do it, we’ll all probably see Marj’s ghost tonight,” added Florence. “At least if we succeed in making away with all this food Mrs. Munsen is providing.”

The preparations were finished at last, and the girls, each laden with a basket or a box of some sort, walked to the trolley-car which was to take them on their excursion. In vain John had offered his car, suggesting that they also make use of Lily’s, which was at their disposal during the latter’s absence; but all the scouts announced their preference for the more plebian mode of travel. They felt as if they would enjoy the park better if they adopted the usual method in reaching it.

They arrived shortly after three o’clock, and after selecting a big picnic table under the trees, and establishing Mrs. Munsen there with a magazine and her knitting, and piling the packages around her, the merry party of seven went off to take in the amusements. Forgetting their years and their dignity as proprietresses of a business and sponsors of a baby, they entered as joyously into the fun as if they were children—singing on the airships and carousels, screaming at the breath-taking descents of the scenic railways. They made the rounds thoroughly, spending money extravagantly, in order not to miss a single sensation. At last, when it was nearly six o’clock, they returned tired but happy to Mrs. Munsen’s table.

“Well, you look as if you had a good time!” she said, smiling at their flushed faces. “It does me good to see you drop your worries for a while.”

“We did have a good time!” announced Marjorie. “We didn’t miss a single thing!”

“And here you have supper all ready, too!” remarked Ethel. “Really, Mrs. Munsen, that is too much! Why didn’t you wait?”

“Oh, my dear, there was nothing much to do. I enjoyed it. And we’re going to have coffee, too! I made arrangements for that!”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Alice. “I move we start right in now—immediately. I’m as hungry as a bear!”

For twenty minutes or so they were so occupied with the business of serving themselves and each other, and eating the delicious food they had brought, that there was no concerted effort at conversation. At last, when their hunger showed signs of being satisfied, they began to go into detail about the afternoon’s amusement.

It was Doris who first mentioned the boys, regretting the fact that they were not there to enjoy the supper.

“It certainly is a pity,” she said, “to think of their eating in restaurants and boarding-houses with all this marvellous food going to waste. For we can never eat it all!”

“Yes, I have to admit that Marjorie was hard-hearted,” said Mrs. Munsen.

“Oh, the food won’t be wasted!” replied Marjorie, undisturbed by the accusation. “I mean to take it home with me. We can feed it to the girls at the tea-house.”

“It’s possible,” observed Doris slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on a distant point near the entrance of the park, “that you may not have to take it home.” Suddenly she jumped up and waved her arms in ecstasy.

“Doris, are you having a fit?” asked Ethel, watching her motions in perplexity.

“I presume,” said Marjorie, “that the young lady’s husband is coming.”

“He is! He is!” cried the happy bride. “And it’s only twenty-five after six—so I guess he didn’t wait to get his supper.”

Marjorie uttered a groan of mock distress.

“I thought we couldn’t run away—” she began; but Mrs. Munsen hastened to interrupt her by assuring Doris that there was still plenty to eat.

“But I do believe he has two men with him,” continued Doris, who had not been listening to the remarks which had just been made for her benefit. “It must be—yes—it is—Jack Wilkinson and John Hadley!”

“Well, of all the nerve!” cried Marjorie. “That beats everything! I wonder who they think invited them!”

“Roger probably,” answered Doris, meekly.

Marjorie relented a little at the other girl’s penitence, for she seemed to consider herself to blame. It was impossible to be angry with Doris for any length of time.

The boys let out a joyous war-whoop as soon as they caught sight of the girls, and Roger, reaching the group first, boldly kissed his blushing bride in front of them all.

“It seems as if it is impossible to get away from some people!” remarked Marjorie, with a significant glance at her brother and John Hadley.

“Oh, we intended to come, all along,” remarked Jack, calmly. “Hope you have plenty for us to eat!” He sat down between Marie Louise and Ethel.

“Yes, indeed, plenty!” said Mrs. Munsen, cordially. “The girls have stopped already, and there is lots of salad, and sandwiches, besides two big cakes and some fruit for dessert.”

“It’s a good thing!” observed Jack, helping himself liberally to chicken salad, “for Dick Roberts said he might drop over, and bring Warner and Ellison. So you see, Sis, you might as well have invited us anyhow.”

Marjorie laughed good-naturedly, and gave up trying to squelch her irrepressible brother.

When, a few minutes later, not only Dick and Bill Warner and Pierce Ellison, but also Eugene Schofield arrived and announced that they too had come for supper, the party was complete. Marjorie admitted herself entirely outwitted, and Mrs. Munsen beamed with joy at seeing her good food so well appreciated.

“But you boys are too late for the amusements,” said Ethel. “We did them all this afternoon.”

“Not too late for dancing, though, are we?” asked Pierce.

Mrs. Munsen wrinkled her forehead in doubt.

“I don’t know,” she replied, in uncertainty; “it may be all right—and it may not. But so long as this is a public park, let’s stay on the safe side, and dance when you get home.”

“Agreed!” cried Marjorie, cheerfully. “We’ll go listen to the first concert in the music pavilion, and then make an early departure.”

During all this merry, care-free time, there had been no reference to the girls’ early morning experience; indeed, it seemed almost as if the incident had been forgotten. But on their way to the pavilion, Jack and John joined Marjorie and Ethel, and instantly the subject was brought up again.

“You still don’t think it was a ghost?” asked John of Marjorie.

“No, I don’t! If it was, why did Anna and Ethel and I hear the voice—and not you boys or the policemen?”

“Of course that’s true,” admitted John. “Though they do say women and girls are more sensitive, and therefore more susceptible to spiritual influences—”

“Nonsense!” cried Marjorie. “It’s somebody—some person who wants to scare us girls! And I mean to sift the thing to the bottom!”

“But how?” asked Jack, a little alarmed at his sister’s daring.

“I’m not sure,” replied Marjorie. “But I think I have a plan—”

“And Marj’s plans always work!” exclaimed Ethel, admiringly.

“And—your plan—involves just girls?” asked John, in a disappointed tone.

“My plan,” announced Marjorie, “involves at least three people—and maybe more—myself, and my brother, and another boy!”

“Bravo!” cried Jack, grasping Marjorie’s shoulder in approval. “I’m with you to the end, Sis!”

“And so am I!” added John, quietly.