She always felt her responsibility with Helen. The latter was of a nervous, imaginary temperament, and it was never well for her to get herself worked up in this way.
"Oh, Ruth! Don't! Suppose it bites you!" gasped Helen.
At that Ruth did laugh. "Whoever heard of a ghost with teeth?" she demanded, and instantly thrust the stick into the gaping hole.
There was a stir—a flutter—a squeaking—and out flopped a brown object about the size of a mouse. Helen shrieked again, and even Ruth darted back.
"A mouse!" cried Helen.
"Right—a flittermouse!" agreed Ruth, suddenly bursting into a laugh. "The chimney's full of them."
"Oh, let's get out!"
"In this rain?" and Ruth pointed to the window, where now the drops were falling, big and fast—the vanguard of the storm.
"But if a bat gets into your hair!" moaned Helen, rocking herself on her knees.
Ruth opened the big hamper, seized a newspaper, and swooped down upon the blind, fluttering brown bat. Seizing it as she would a spider, she ran to the window and flung it out, just as the water burst into the room in a flood.