CHAPTER IX
GHOSTS AND THINGS
Billie was instantly sorry for her speech, as she saw the old troubled expression cross her father's face.
"Forgive me, please!" she pleaded. "I think I must be the most ungrateful girl alive."
"Well, I should say so!" cried Chet, to whom the description of the queer old house, while dismaying his sister, had appealed immensely. "Say, I'd like nothing better than to go out right now and look your property over, Billie. Big rooms and spooky halls and—say, Mother, it must have a cellar and an attic. What are they like?"
"I suppose," said his mother, smiling at his enthusiasm, "that since you seem to like the ghostly part, you would be more than ever pleased with the attic and cellar."
"As I remember it, the cellar was the most peculiar part of the whole queer place. Aunt Beatrice took me through it, and seemed immensely proud of the funny old tunnels and store-rooms that were tucked away in all sort of odd corners. The only thing I liked about it," she finished, with a reminiscent smile, "was the shelf-lined, icy room where she kept her fruit preserves."
"This gets better and better!" fairly crowed Chet. "A damp, gloomy old cellar with tunnels and storerooms in queer corners and—But you were going to tell us about the attic."
"Yes, the attic!" cried Billie, for by this time Chet had made her as much interested in her strange inheritance as he was. "Did it have trunks in it, Mother—and cobwebs?"
"Trunks, yes, but not cobwebs," smiled her mother, "for Aunt Beatrice was an excellent housekeeper—when she was at home."
"Then the attic wasn't spooky?" queried Chet, disappointed.
"I should say it was!" returned his mother, with an emphasis that set all his fears at rest. "It was the creepiest place I have ever been in, and I was never gladder in my life than when we left it for the more cheerful lower floor—though goodness knows that was dreary enough."
"Say, when are we going?" cried Chet, jumping to his feet, his face flushed with eagerness.
"Where?" asked Mrs. Bradley.
"To Cherry Corners, of course," answered Chet in a tone which very plainly meant, "why ask such a foolish question?" "To the ghosts that inhabit the garret and cellar of Billie's new house."
"Hold on, hold on there!" cried Mr. Bradley, who had been listening to the proceedings in amused silence. "Do you happen to know how far Cherry Corners is from here?"
"Very far?" asked Billie.
"A whole day's ride, that's all," their father answered.
"Say, Dad," cried Chet suddenly. "What do you suppose the old place is worth?"
"I can't say, Chet," answered Mr. Bradley. "Being so far from good roads and the railroad, I am afraid the land is not worth much."
"But it must be worth something," persisted the boy.
Mr. Bradley smiled faintly.
"For Billie's sake let us hope so. But you must remember, in this state there are thousands of abandoned farms. Folks simply can't make a living on them, and so they move away."
"But the buildings must be worth something."
"To live in, yes, but that is all. You can't move an old stone house to some other spot."
"Why do they call it 'Cherry Corners?'" asked Billie, for she had been following a little train of thought all her own. "It's a very queer name."
"Oh, they come by it naturally enough," her mother answered. "It is surrounded by a grove of cherry trees and is near a crossing of two rocky roads. So you see the reason for 'Cherry Corners.'"
"Goodness, that sounds as if it were away off in the wilderness!" cried Billie, adding: "But wouldn't it be awful to have to live in that spooky old house all alone? Are there any houses near it, Mother?"
"Not one for more than a mile," said Mrs. Bradley. "They are almost as isolated now as they used to be in the old Indian days."
"Indians!" cried Chet, pricking up his ears again. "Did you say something about Indians, Mother?"
"Why, I've heard Aunt Beatrice say," answered Mrs. Bradley, beginning to share in her children's enthusiasm, "that the Powersons who originally built the house built it especially for the purpose of resisting Indian attacks. Now that I come to think of it," she added, her eyes beginning to shine with excitement, "that was the reason for the winding tunnels and secret rooms. As the last resort, the family could take refuge in them."
"Oh, boy!" cried Chet, springing to his feet for the second time. "Did you hear that, did you? Indian raids and—oh, gosh!" Words failed him and he sank back in his chair with a sigh of joy.
"Isn't it wonderful!" breathed Billie. "At first I was disappointed but now—Is that all she left, Mother?"
"Isn't that enough?" her father interjected, with a laugh.
"I suppose so, but I thought—"
"Why, yes, that was all," said her mother, adding the next moment, surprised that she should have forgotten the most important part of all: "Oh, I forgot to tell you—Aunt Beatrice left you the house with all its contents."
"Oh!" breathed Billie again. "Now I know we're going to have a wonderful time!"
"What does the old house contain?" questioned Chet. His mind was on getting some money out of the inheritance for Billie.
"I am sure I do not know," answered his mother, "It may be completely furnished or it may be quite bare. I imagine, though, that Aunt Beatrice left it furnished. But everything is very old, and maybe the rats and moths have played sad havoc there."
They talked for a little while more about this strange thing that had happened. Then Mr. Bradley went off to pick up the loose ends of his business and Mrs. Bradley adjourned to the kitchen to discuss supper preparations with the mountainous Debbie.
Left alone, Billie and Chet looked at each other wonderingly.
"Well," said Billie in a slightly, awed tone, "we expected something to happen, and it certainly did."
"But we didn't expect her to leave you an old stone mansion," crowed Chet. "Say, Billie," he added, stopping before her in his excited pacing of the room to gaze at her eagerly, "aren't you crazy to go out and see it?"
"I'd like," said Billie fervently, "to start for Cherry Corners on the very next train. But I'm not so sure I'd like to stay in that place after nightfall," she added on second thought.
"Why, you're not afraid of the ghosts, are you?" he asked, with intense scorn. "Don't you know that ghosts are all in the imagination?"
"Of course I do. Who said I was afraid of ghosts?" retorted Billie with spirit. "You know that I don't believe in them any more than you do."
"Well, then what are you afraid of?" insisted Chet.
"Oh, thieves and things. Tramps maybe," said Billie thoughtfully; then she added with spirit, as Chet smiled a superior sort of smile: "I just guess you wouldn't be able to spend a night in that sort of a gloomy old house away off from everybody without feeling nervous. Goodness! I'd be expecting every minute to have the ghosts of dead and gone Indians rise up and scalp me."
"Thought you didn't believe in ghosts," gibed Chet.
"I don't," flared Billie, adding rather weakly: "But I'm not going to take any chances, anyway."
"But oh," she added after a few minutes of thoughtful silence, "I can't help it if it is ungrateful, but I do wish Aunt Beatrice had left me a few hundred dollars instead. We've still got that old statue to worry about, and Three Towers Hall and the military academy."
Chet was silent for a minute, then he said with sudden inspiration: "There's the watch Aunt Beatrice left me, you know. Mother said it was very valuable."
Billie's face lighted for a moment, then fell again.
"But you know Uncle Bill always said that you never could get anything like the value for old gold. And anyway," she rose and put a loving arm about him, "I couldn't let you do that for me, Chet, dear. I think you're the dearest brother in the world."
A few hours later Laura Jordon and Violet Farrington came over, trying their best not to look curious. They had waited as long as they could, but knowing about the death of Billie's queer old aunt and knowing also that Billie, as her namesake, might expect some share of the fortune—if there was one—they had been filled with excitement, and now as they ran up the steps to Billie's porch it was all they could do to keep from blurting out the question.
For both Laura and Violet had been perfectly certain that Billie's Aunt Beatrice had been some sort of miser who had piled up an immense fortune simply for their chum's benefit.
"Just think," Violet had said in one of their excited conferences on the subject, "what a wonderful thing it will be for Billie just now when she is so worried about that miserable old statue. And for Chet too!"
"Yes, it would mean they could both go to school and we'd all have such a good time," Laura had chimed in. "Goodness!" she had added with a chuckle, "I feel almost as much obliged to Aunt Beatrice as Billie will."
But now that the great moment had come, they sat decorously in Billie's porch swing and tried to appear not at all curious as to whether Billie had gathered in a fortune since they last had seen her or not.
And Billie, her little imp of mischief at work again, guessed the object of their visit and decided with an inward chuckle to keep them guessing.
She managed to accomplish her purpose for just about five minutes. Then Laura, unable to stand the suspense a moment more, took the bit in her teeth and bolted.
"For goodness' sake, Billie," she cried desperately, "why don't you tell us?"
"Tell you what?" asked Billie, trying to look innocent. "Haven't I been telling you—"
"Yes, about the way Debbie makes potato salad," cried Laura disgustedly.
"You know well enough why we came."
"Why you came?" Billie repeated, looking still more surprised. "Why, naturally, I thought you came to see me."
"Billie Bradley, if you don't tell us what we want to know this instant,"
cried Laura, jumping to her feet and making a threatening movement toward
Billie's mischievous head, "I'll—I'll—oh, I don't know what I'll do.
Are you going to be good? Are you?"
"Yes, yes," cried Billie, pretending immense fright, while her eyes danced with mischief. "Tell me what it is you want to know and I'll do my best, Your Highness," this last in such a very humble tone that Laura chuckled.
"All right, go ahead then," she said while Violet leaned forward eagerly.
"What did your aunt leave you?"
"Straight from the shoulder," Billie murmured. Then as Laura made another threatening gesture toward her, added hurriedly: "All right. Don't shoot and I'll tell you everything. Only it will take time."
Billie paused, to allow the proper amount of emphasis, then said, in a deep whisper:
"She left me a—haunted house!"