Shutting off the motor, she turned to her friends.
“I hope he shows up,” Sim whispered to Arden and Terry.
“Who?” asked Dot.
“The old soldier with a wounded head, all bandaged in bloody rags. He wears very heavy boots and was hidden and sheltered from the British in this old house during the Revolution,” Terry guessed facetiously.
“But how did you find out all this?” Dot was plainly interested but also a little incredulous.
“We were riding here in Jockey Hollow yesterday,” Sim explained, “when our horses were frightened, and we were, also, by some Negro workmen rushing out of the place, crying, ‘Ghost!’ Oh, it was startling!” and she related, in her most convincing way the details of their strange adventure.
“Oh!” said Dorothy after a little pause. “Oh!” That was all.
The four sat in the car, no one speaking for a while. Their own imaginings had gotten the best of them, evidently, though no one would admit it.
Then, suddenly, the quiet and peace surrounding the old Hall was broken, by the loud squeaking of ancient nails being pulled from hundred-year-old wood, and the shrill sounds were like the shrieks of frightened women. It startled the girls into activity.
“The workmen are back!” Arden said disappointedly. “I guess the ghost won’t dare come out.”