"Wouldn't it be great if we could trace her?" said Edith, after a moment's silence. "I hate to think of her all alone—with no protection."
"Yes," answered Miss Phillips, "though I haven't said much about the matter, the girl has been constantly in my mind. And I wanted to tell you that I have written to a friend of mine, a woman who is a private detective, and asked her to look into the matter. She would, of course, make nothing public, but would only try to bring Frieda back here, or send her home.
"But I have been thinking that perhaps some of you girls might have a plan, so I am going to offer a medal of merit to any Scout who locates her. During Thanksgiving—well, I will leave it to you! But we simply must find Frieda!"
The fire had died down to the coals, and the girls grew silent as they gazed dreamily at the pictures their imaginations invented. It was Doris who spoke first.
"Now is a good time for the story, Captain. Please tell us!" she pleaded.
Miss Phillips hesitated, glancing keenly at the eager faces of the girls around her, who now seemed perfectly calm and self-possessed. Then she looked at her watch; it was not quite six o'clock. There would still be time; but she hesitated to tell a ghost-story in the same house—in the very room!—where the ghost was supposed to appear. It was the girls' own tranquil manner that decided her.
"When I was a freshman at Miss Allen's," she began, "I roomed with a sophomore whose home was not far from here. Several times I went with her to spend week-ends with her parents. On one of these occasions, after we had finished dinner and were comfortably seated around the open fire, her grandfather—a very old man with snow-white hair—was talking of his boyhood in this neighborhood. Even then this house was believed haunted, but the story was better known than it is now, when there are few living who could tell the details. It was my good fortune to hear it from his own lips, just as his grandfather had told him.
"His grandfather, he said, was a frequent guest here in the old days. The man who built this house came over from England, it was said, to escape scandal. Very wealthy, handsome, and of noble birth, to all appearances he was a gentleman, having a very gracious way about him; but in reality he was wayward, headstrong, and dissipated. He entertained lavishly, and his parties were the talk of the countryside—especially the dress-ball which he gave every New Year's Eve, starting at midnight and continuing throughout the next day and night. It was after one of these New Year's parties, which was particularly riotous, that he disappeared as mysteriously as he had come. Friends who called at the house several days after the event found that the servants and the furniture had vanished, no one knew whither, and the house completely empty. Naturally, this gave rise to much speculation on the part of the townsfolk, who invented many stories; some said that he had repented of his evil ways and fled into retirement; others that the devil had carried him off for a companion in wickedness.
"Meanwhile, the house remained deserted, and decay set in. It was not until the following New Year's Eve that it was seen occupied again; then, two men who were returning late from a revel took a short-cut through the garden in front of the house. The moon, flooding the house with a pale light, showed shadows passing and repassing before the windows of the reception hall. The watchers clutched at each other in sudden fear.
"'This is the anniversary!' said one, in a hoarse whisper; and they went home to talk it over.