He sat down and lifted his pen to go on with a letter. Ambrose got up from the rug and stood irresolute by the door. He tried to say “Father,” but no voice came, and Mr Hawthorne did not look round or ask what he wanted. It made it so much worse that he did not notice or suspect anything.
“I can’t do it now,” said Ambrose to himself, “I must tell David first.”
Lessons were only just over in the school-room, and he found David putting away his books, while Pennie and Nancy, still with their hats and cloaks on, were talking very fast about all they had seen and done in Nearminster. How happy they looked! They had nothing dreadful on their minds. It made Ambrose all the more anxious to have someone to bear his secret with him, and he went softly up to David and said in a low voice:
“I want to speak to you.”
“All right!” said David rather unwillingly, for he wanted to hear more about Nearminster and Kettles.
“Not here,” whispered Ambrose. “Upstairs—in the museum. It’s very important.”
David turned and looked at his brother. Ambrose’s cheeks were scarlet, his eyes had a scared expression, and his hair was sticking up in spikes as if he had been running his hands through it.
At these certain signs of excitement David at once concluded that something had happened. He hastily thrust away his last books, and the two boys left the school-room.
“Is it a ghost?” he asked as they ran up the flight of stairs leading to the museum.
“Much worse,” returned Ambrose. “It’s something real. It’s awful.”