"Oh, surely even a tramp wouldn't spend a night in such a haunted den! Still, it's so deserted, it might be a place for smugglers or coiners or burglars. Oh, I don't think I dare go in after all! No, I daren't!"
Annie was half-serious, and looking inclined to turn tail.
GERDA DARTED UPON THE BATHFUL OF OLD LETTERS
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"Don't show the white feather now," said Gerda reproachfully. "Where are we to get our paper from?"
"Come along, Annie, and don't be an idiot!" was Deirdre's uncomplimentary rejoinder. "Why, you were the first to go in before!"
"My nerves were stronger last February," protested Annie. "I'll let one of you take the lead this time."
It was quite a pilgrimage through the nettle-grown garden to reach the window where they had made their entrance into the house. It was open, just as they had left it, but long trails of clematis swept across, and there was an empty bird's nest on the corner of the sill. It did not appear as if anyone had disturbed its quiet for months. This time Gerda led the way, with a confidence and assurance that rather surprised the other two. Through the dilapidated dining-room, along the dim mouldy hall and up the creaking stairs they tramped, trying by the noise they made to dispel the ghostly feeling that clung to the deserted old place. If coiners, smugglers, or burglars had visited the house, they had left no trace of their presence. Everything on the story above was untouched, though perhaps a trifle more dust-covered and cobwebby than before. Gerda darted upon the bathful of old letters, and with eager fingers anxiously began turning them hurriedly over.
"Haven't time to sort them out," declared Annie, snatching up a handful and putting them into her bag. "I vote we take what we want, and tear them up outside. Why are you looking at them so particularly, Gerda?"
"I thought some might have crests. Do let me see what you've taken!" said Gerda beseechingly. "No, I don't want these!"