“What?” Up in the dormitory that night, while they brushed their hair, Rene listened rather incredulously to their tale. “No, I’ve never heard it. It must have been a mistake. Or else a trespassing boy. Though—” Rene broke off.
“Well?” inquired Gerry, scenting disbelief in Rene’s voice.
“Dad says that the boys don’t trespass in our wood. He says we’re lucky. He says that the Witch’s Wood being close by is more help to the school wood than a hundred ‘Trespassers will be Prosecuted’ boards,” finished up the doctor’s daughter.
“But our wood’s not Witch’s Wood,” broke in Gerry.
“Of course it’s not. But they’re close; there’s only a broken-down fence between. So I suppose the boys think the witch might lean over the palings and catch them,” Rene laughed.
“I wish you’d tell me about Witch’s Wood,” broke in Betty eagerly. “It’s such a story-book name, and so thrilly.”
“It’s not so thrilly as it sounds, then.” Rene’s tone sounded superior. “It’s absolutely ordinary. And it’s only private because the owner died abroad years ago and his estate went into Chancery, and the village people got ideas about the wood because of the haunted cottage in the middle. They say that it’s haunted anyhow. They say that it’s a witch’s cottage, and that it gave the name to the wood. But Dad says it ought to be spelt Wych’s Wood, and that it’s because of the wych elms that it’s got its name. And he’s sure to be right.”
“Besides,” said Mona severely, breaking in, “we’re Guides. And Guides don’t believe in ghosts.”
“I don’t either. Oh, do tell everything about the witch’s cottage, though, Rene,” begged Betty.
“It’s there. And nobody goes into the wood, so nobody goes near it. A lawyer came down from London once and looked at it. Dad says it couldn’t possibly be lived in. That’s all.”