"A ten-strike! Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!" again sounded the revels.
"Hooley St. Bridget, pray for us! Hail Mary, full of grace! Don't go, ole mist'ess, honey! Oh, stay where you is in safety!" pleaded the old woman, clasping her hands.
"Nonsense! Hold your tongue, Cassy. If ever there was a woman plagued with a set of cowardly simpletons, it is myself. Let go my skirts this moment, Alice! Be silent, every one of you, and follow me as softly as possible," said my grandmother, in a low, stern voice, as she took up the candle and led the way downstairs. We followed at this order—Cassy holding on to her mistress' skirts, Alice holding to Cassy's, and I bringing up the rear, with carnal weapons in one hand and spiritual ones in the other—that is to say, with a big ruler and a prayerbook.
A chill, damp air met us at the foot of the stairs—nothing else.
The front hall was empty and bleak. We tried the doors, and found them as secure as we had left them, with the exception of the parlor door, by which Cassy had entered, and which was on the latch. Mrs. Hawkins pulled it to and locked it, saying, in a low voice, that she wished, while examining each room, to keep all the rest locked, that there might be no escape for any one concealed in the house.
First we went into the right-hand bedroom, opening from the hall. It was secure, vacant and bleak. We locked the door and drew out the key.
Next we looked into the left-hand bedroom; it was in precisely the same condition. We made it fast in the same manner.
Then we opened and entered the parlor. This was the bleakest room of any—large, square, lofty, totally bare, cold and damp.
"Nothing here," said Mrs. Hawkins, looking around.
Urr-rr-rr-r-r-r-r-rattle-te-bang-ang-ang! the phantom ball rolled, and scattered the ninepins.