This ghostly visitor to the dining room was an adult. She saw its flowing robe now. The candle, held so high, threw the shadow of the head on the wall in sharp relief.
“Her hair’s done up in a ‘pug’ behind,” gasped Agnes. “Who can it be? Mrs. MacCall, or—or Aunt Sarah?”
The mysterious person was at the closet built into the brickwork of the chimney-piece, not at the hall door. That closet was a catch-all for all manner of odds and ends. There were shelves up high, as well as a deep bin underneath.
Agnes felt she must know who the person was who was rummaging in the closet, and what she was about. She softly extinguished her own candle, and set it down on the floor in the hall. Then she pushed the door open wider and ventured into the dining room.
“Aunt Sarah!”
Agnes did not utter this ejaculation aloud; but she was completely surprised.
The grim looking old woman was fumbling on the top shelf of the cupboard, and she was muttering to herself in a most exasperated tone.
“Those dratted young ones are into everything!” was Aunt Sarah’s complaint. “A body can’t find a thing put away as it should be.”
She stepped back from the cupboard then. She closed the door with an angry snap, and then stood, meditating.
Agnes had darted around the big table and crouched down. Aunt Sarah half turned from the closet door; then she turned back again.