"I don't know, dear. Did I speak funny?" she asked.
"Why you know you did. What's the use o' tryin' to scare a body with gibberish? This place is creepy 'nough now."
As she spoke, they reached the door of the strange building. They could see that it stood open, and even as they paused near the threshold another puff of air passed them, and they heard a door squeak on its rusty hinges.
They stood and listened breathlessly, peering into the dark interior whence there was borne to their nostrils a musty odor. A large bat whisked across the opening, and as they started back alarmed he returned with swift zig-zag cuts and vanished ghostlike into the house.
"It's deserted," whispered Rebecca.
"Perhaps it's haunted," Phœbe replied.
"Well, we needn't go in, I guess," said Rebecca, turning from the door and starting briskly away. "Come on this way, Phœbe—look out fer the trees—lands! Did y'ever see so many?"
A few steps brought them to a high brick wall, against which flowers, weeds, and vines grew rank together. They followed this wall, walking more rapidly, for the day was breaking in earnest and groping was needless now. Presently they came to a spot where the wall was broken away, leaving an opening just broad enough to admit a man's body. Rebecca squeezed boldly through and Phœbe followed her, rather for company's sake than with any curiosity to see what was beyond.
They found themselves in a sort of open common, stretching to the edge of a broad roadway about a hundred yards from where they stood. On the other side of the road a cluster of gabled cottages was visible against the faint rose tint of the eastern sky.
As Phœbe came to her sister's side, she clutched her arm excitedly: