“Nothing to do with the mystery, has it?” yawned Terry.
“No, silly! It’s just snowing. It’s going to be a glorious storm, much better than the other little fairy we had, I believe, and oh, don’t you just love snow for Christmas?”
“That’s so, Christmas is coming,” Terry admitted as she sat up in her bed and watched Arden, still at the window. “What time is it?”
“Nearly eight. Too sleepy still to see the faithful clock right before you,” teased Arden.
“Sim and Dot up yet?”
“I haven’t heard them moving.” Arden inclined an ear toward the room across the hall where their hostess and the other girl slept.
“Well, then, come on back to bed,” urged Terry. “No use getting up until Sim does. And we stayed up so late last night, talking to Harry Pangborn, that I’m sleepy yet.”
“I’m not, and I’m going to dress. I have something to do,” declared Arden with a purposeful look on her face.
“What? Going to see Harry? I think he’s awfully nice.”
“He is, but I’m not going to see him. I’m going to the woods to get some holly branches. I noticed a lovely lot of bushes some distance back of the old Hall when I was wandering around by the cellar door that time Betty Howe popped up out of it.”