"I dare say the people who lived here wore artificial wigs, both men and women," commented Miss Phillips; "it was about that period."
If there ever was a ghost, it was one which left no traces; and the girls became more at ease in this atmosphere of emptiness. They did, however, have one brief moment of panic. They had all climbed the stairs to the third floor and had paused upon the landing, undecided as to which way they should go first, when a sharp whirring or rustling was heard in the room nearest them.
For an instant they all stood perfectly still, paralyzed by fright. Then Miss Phillips, with a quick step forward, flung open the door. This act started the rustling again; and through the open doorway they could see that it was nothing but a swallow which had in some way become imprisoned there. Marjorie caught it in her hand, where it lay palpitating distressedly; and thrusting her arm through a broken pane of glass, allowed the creature to escape.
The short autumn day was drawing to a close, and the chillness of the damp, musty atmosphere was beginning to affect the girls unpleasantly. The sight of another fireplace—there seemed to be one in every room—recalled Miss Phillips's thoughts to practical things.
"Let's go down to that big room," she suggested, "and prepare our supper."
In fifteen minutes a bright fire was going and the kettle boiling cheerily. The girls were so busy hurrying to and fro in preparation of the meal that they had forgotten the ghost.
It was only after they were seated on the floor, and had time to look around, that Marjorie recalled the situation to their minds by remarking,
"Can you imagine Frieda Hammer staying here all night long by herself?"
The girls shuddered at the suggestion.