“You love her more than you do me, because she took care of you for a week, while I gave the best years of my life to you!”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Elsie, but you can’t expect me to be grateful for something I can’t remember.”
While they had been talking they had reached the front door of the house and stopped at the steps of the porch. The wooden boards had rotted and the heavy door was sadly in need of paint. Everything about the place suggested neglect, ruin, and decay.
Helen shuddered.
“Let’s not stay here!” she begged. “I’d rather walk all the way to town than sleep in this haunted house over night.”
“Nonsense,” replied the other. “I’m tired and hungry. Come on in.”
She pulled the girl up the steps, and, selecting a large key from her hand bag, inserted it into the lock and turned the knob. The heavy door creaked and opened.
Inside, the house was gloomy and forbidding. All the old-fashioned shutters were closed so that the appearance within was almost of night. Helen stopped at the doorway and shivered with fear.
“Come along back to the kitchen and we’ll see if we can find something to eat,” said Mrs. Fishberry in a cheerful tone.
“I don’t want to!” objected Helen.