“Don’t be a coward!” returned the other. “I’m ashamed of you!”
Plucking up her courage the girl led the way through the large dim hall, with its great dark staircase in the center, to the wing where the kitchen had been built. The door of this room was locked on the outside with another huge key.
“Here we are!” exclaimed Mrs. Fishberry, as she opened the door. “Now can’t we get some light into this room?”
She walked over to the windows and tried to raise them. But they were evidently nailed and barred on the outside.
“I wonder whether there is any food,” she remarked. “And what kind of stove this is.”
“It’s an oil stove,” answered Helen, in a flash. “And there’s a supply of oil under that table. And here’s where the food is kept,” she added, pointing to a large cupboard.
Mrs. Fishberry eyed her narrowly.
“You remember pretty well, Helen,” she said.
“Yes, I do. Look, here’s tea and sugar and oatmeal. Well, we won’t starve.”
“That’s good. Now can you remember where to get the water?”