“I hope so,” said Arden. “By the way, Betty, did you ever get those old books you were looking for in the cellar?”
“I never did. But I’m going in when the house is razed. It will be light down there then. There may be some valuable volumes, the librarian says.”
In the days that passed between the one before Christmas and the episode of the “mistletoe,” nothing had happened at Sycamore Hall, as far as Arden and her chums could learn. There were no more strange manifestations. But then no workmen were engaged in tearing the place apart.
Dick and Betty decided not to say anything to Viney Tucker until the afternoon of the party. Otherwise she might have too long a time to brood over it and get some obstreperous notions busy in her old bonnet.
All the preparations were finished. Moselle had made up a delightful picnic lunch for an evening supper, with thermos bottles of coffee and chocolate. The things were taken to the Hall by Harry in his car, and a hearth fire was lighted early in the afternoon to drive the chill off the big old room.
Evening came, and after an early meal the girls and Harry went, in two carloads, to the old Hall. Candles had been brought for illumination, and there was quite a collection of flashlights for emergencies.
Then Arden, her chums, and Harry trooped into the place. More wood was piled on the fire. The hour approached when Dick and Betty were to bring in Granny Howe.
Footsteps were heard on the porch—voices—laughter.
“What in the world are you tykes up to?” Granny could be heard asking of Betty and Dick. Her voice was jovial.
They brought in the dear old lady—into the candlelighted room, where the roaring fire flickered on branches of holly that the girls, with a last moment thought, had hung around the walls.