And Sairy Pritchett had intimated that Hillcrest was haunted!
Now, ’Phemie didn’t believe in ghosts–not at all. She would have been very angry had anyone suggested that there was a superstitious strain in her character.
Yet, as she lay there beside her sleeping sister she began to hear the strangest sounds.
It wasn’t the wind; nor was it the low crackling of the fire on the kitchen hearth. She could easily distinguish both of these. Soon, too, she made out the insistent gnawing of a rat behind the mopboard. That long-tailed gentleman seemed determined to get in; but ’Phemie was not afraid of rats. At least, not so long as they kept out of sight.
But there were other noises. Once ’Phemie had all but lost herself in sleep when–it seemed–a voice spoke directly in her ear. It said:
“I thought I’d find you here.”
’Phemie started into a sitting posture in the rustling straw bed. She listened hard.
The voice was silent. The fire was still. The wind had suddenly dropped. Even the rat had ceased his sapping and mining operations.
What had frightened Mr. Rat away?
He, too, must have heard that mysterious voice. ’Phemie could not believe she had imagined it.