"Our own house—think of it!" cried Bettie, turning the key. "Push, somebody; the door sticks. There! It's open."
"Ugh!" said Mabel, drawing back hastily. "It's awfully dark and stuffy in there. I guess I won't go in just yet—it smells so dead-ratty."
"It's been shut up so long," explained Jean. "Wait. I'll pull some of the vines back from this window. There! Can you see better?"
"Lots," said Bettie. "This is the parlor, girls—but, oh, what raggedy paper. We'll need lots of pictures to cover all the holes and spots."
"We'd better clean it all first," advised sensible Jean. "The windows are covered with dust and the floor is just black."
"This," said Marjory, opening a door, "must be the dining-room. Oh! What a cunning little corner cupboard—just the place for our dishes."
"You mean it would be if we had any," said Mabel. "Mine are all smashed."
"Pooh!" said Jean. "We don't mean doll things—we want real, grown-up ones. Why, what a cunning little bedroom!"
"There's one off the parlor, too," said Marjory, "and it's even cunninger than this."
"My! what a horrid place!" exclaimed Mabel, poking an inquisitive nose into another unexplored room, and as hastily withdrawing that offended feature. "Mercy, I'm all over spider webs."