“Well, the state is turning me and my cousin out of our property. Making a park of it for folks to ride horses in and birds to feed in. Bah! Don’t talk to me! The state! I’d state ’em if I had my way!”
“Please don’t blame us,” urged Sim. “We really would love to help you and Granny Howe get money for this place and perhaps——”
“Ahem!” coughed Arden loudly.
“Better get back home where you belong, not out here catching cold!” snapped Viney Tucker. “Terrible weather! I hate snow!”
“I guess she hates everything and everybody,” thought Arden.
The strange old woman stood in the open doorway of the old stone building. From the footprints in the snow the girls could easily guess that she had recently entered it. Also it was plain that she had come from over a distant hill and not from Granny Howe’s cottage, which nestled in a little hollow about a quarter of a mile back of the old Hall.
“Then you don’t mind if we take some of this mistletoe?” asked Sim, after a pause.
“No! Why should I? You can settle with the state,” and she laughed scornfully. “It doesn’t belong to my folks any more. Only don’t call it mistletoe.”
“What is it?” asked Sim.
“How should I know? I’m not a botanist or a bird-sanctuary teacher.”