“I don’t like so many shut doors,” Dot confided to Tess, as they were dusting the carved balustrade in the big hall, and the big, hair-cloth covered pieces of furniture which were set about the lower floor of it. “You don’t know what is behind them—ready to pop out!”
“Isn’t anything behind them,” said the practical Tess. “Don’t you be a little ‘’fraid-cat,’ Dot.”
Then a door rattled, and a latch clicked, and both girls drew suddenly together, while their hearts throbbed tumultuously.
“Of course, that was only the old wind,” whispered Tess, at last.
“Ye-es. But the wind wasn’t ever like that at home in Bloomingsburg,” stammered Dot. “I—I don’t believe I am going to like this big house, Tess. I—I wish we were home in Essex Street.”
She actually burst out crying and ran to Ruth, who chanced to open the dining-room door. Agnes was with her, and the twelve year old demanded of Tess:
“What’s the matter with that child? What have you been doing to her?”
“Why, Aggie! You know I wouldn’t do anything to her,” declared Tess, a little hurt by the implied accusation.
“Of course you haven’t, dear,” said Ruth, soothing the sobbing Dot. “Tell us about it.”
“Dot’s afraid—the house is so big—and the doors rattle,” said Tess.