“No-o, I guess not. Not so much. But mebbe ’twas one of the things he was thinkin’ about; he figgers a lot of things into his head that don’t come outen his mouth. But tell me, jest what does that ha’nt do? The same kind of things all the time? Nobody else ever stayed there long ’nough to find out if the ha’nt worked reg’lar. You know him pretty well by now, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Well, I don’t pay much attention to him. He—or it—scared me green in the face the first night, but he’s never done me any real harm, and I’ve never seen anything in a white sheet gibbering at me—nor anything else. But this is what I know about him.” And he described the muffled footfalls in attic and stairway, the rustling and movement of the mattress, and the uncanny suggestion that something else was there.
“Ooh!” She shuddered and looked nervously around. Then, banishing the visions conjured up by his words, she became practical. “Did you ever think that mebbe the thing walkin’ round was a rat?”
“A rat? If he is, Mister Rat has feet as big as pillows. I thought of it, yes. But it’s queer—I’ve never heard a rat or a mouse scamper or gnaw in that house. You’d think there would be plenty of them, but I’ve never seen nor heard a sign. And I’m positive it was no rat that got into bed with me.”
“M-h’m. Well, I wonder, now—do you want a cat? We’ve got four of ’em, always pesterin’ round for somethin’ to eat. They’re Spit and Spat and Fit and Fat—I named ’em all my own self. Spit and Spat are ugly and they make noises like their names. Fit has fits and Fat’s fat. I’ll give you Spit if you want him. He’s quick as lightnin’ and an awful good ratter, and he’ll be company for you, too. Leave that attic door open and see what he’ll do. Want to?”
“All right,” he chuckled. “But if that heavy-footed ha’nt steps on Spit’s tail and Spit raises the roof with a gosh-awful yowl when I’m asleep—there won’t be any house left. I’ll go head-first through the wall and knock down the whole layout.”
She burst into a merry laugh, in which he joined. Quickly she suppressed it, however, looking around once more—not for a night-walking phantom this time, but for something which prowled as stealthily by day, ranging the whole countryside: the sinister pair whose presence kept Steve in a hole in the ground.
“You hadn’t ought to make me laugh so sudden-like,” she reproved. But as they went onward she giggled several times, and he chuckled in sympathy. Nothing more was said, however, until they emerged into a small field. Before them, dingy and bare, stood the Oaks house.
“Lost?” she smiled then, seeing his surprised look. “Didn’t think it was so nigh, did you? We come back by the short way—it don’t take half as long as goin’. Tell me”—she drew closer to him—“what you a-huntin’ pop for?”
He hesitated. Then, as bluntly as she had revealed her knowledge of Lou and the bridge, he told her. She did not seem much surprised, though she was plainly disturbed.