Nann’s merry laughter rang out. “I’ve heard of belling a cat,” she said, “but never before did I hear of belling a ghost.”
Dories smiled. “Oh, I didn’t mean that we were to catch the—well, whoever it is that leaves the messages, first, and then hang a bell on him. That, of course, would be impossible.”
“Well, then, what is your plan?”
But before Dories could explain, a querulous voice from the adjoining room called, “Girls, its five o’clock! I do wish you would bring me my toast and tea. The air is so chilly, I need it to warm me up.”
Contritely Dories sprang to the door. She had entirely forgotten her aunt’s existence all of the afternoon. “Wouldn’t you like to have part of the supper that Nann and I will prepare for ourselves?” she asked. “We’ll have anything that you would like.”
“Toast and tea are all I wish, and I want them at once,” was the rather ungracious reply. And so the girls went to the kitchen, made a fire in the stove and set the kettle on to boil.
“Goodness, I’d hate to have nothing to eat but tea and toast day in and day out,” was Dories’ comment. Then to her companion, “It’s your turn to choose from the cupboard tonight and plan the supper.”
“All right, and I’ll get it, too, while you wait on Miss Moore.”
An hour later the girls had finished the really excellent meal which Nann had prepared, and, for a while, they sat close to the kitchen stove to keep warm. The wind, which had been moaning all of the afternoon about the cabin, had risen in velocity and Dories remarked with a shudder that it might be the start of one of those dismal three-day storms about which Gib had told them.
“It may be as terrible as that hurricane that swept the sea up over the wall and undermined old Colonel Wadbury’s house,” she continued, bent, it would seem, on having the picture as dark as she could.