“We’re in luck, Roddy,” whispered Jim. “Here’s one of the windows open.”
“Don’t you think we’ve gone far enough, Jim?” said I, with my teeth chattering.
“I’ll lift you in first.”
“No, no, I’ll not go first.”
“Then I will.” He gripped the sill, and had his knee on it in an instant. “Now, Roddy, give me your hands.” With a pull he had me up beside him, and a moment later we were both in the haunted house.
How hollow it sounded when we jumped down on to the wooden floor! There was such a sudden boom and reverberation that we both stood silent for a moment. Then Jim burst out laughing.
“What an old drum of a place it is!” he cried; “we’ll strike a light, Roddy, and see where we are.”
He had brought a candle and a tinder-box in his pocket. When the flame burned up, we saw an arched stone roof above our heads, and broad deal shelves all round us covered with dusty dishes. It was the pantry.
“I’ll show you round,” said Jim, merrily; and, pushing the door open, he led the way into the hall. I remember the high, oak-panelled walls, with the heads of deer jutting out, and a single white bust, which sent my heart into my mouth, in the corner. Many rooms opened out of this, and we wandered from one to the other—the kitchens, the still-room, the morning-room, the dining-room, all filled with the same choking smell of dust and of mildew.
“This is where they played the cards, Jim,” said I, in a hushed voice. “It was on that very table.”