CHAPTER XIV. COULD IT BE OLGA?
It was a beautiful evening, this of Stella Latham's birthday party. It was not often that the climate gave the people of Greensboro, this early in the season, such a soft and temperate night.
There was no moon, but the stars plentifully besprinkled the heavens, and their light bathed the area surrounding the Latham house, beyond the radiance of the Japanese lanterns, sufficiently for the three girls to see objects at some distance.
Before they reached the back door of the farmhouse, Amy cried aloud:
"Oh, girls! What's that? A ghost?"
"Ghost your granny!" exclaimed Stella. "That is somebody running along the hedge in a white skirt."
"It is a woman or a girl," Janice agreed, staring at the rapidly moving figure. "Is there a path there?"
"That is the path to one tenant house. Wait till I ask Anna, the cook."
She hurried to the back door, and her two friends, waiting at the pasture-lane bars, heard her ask if the woman who had broken the dish had gone.
"The awkward thing!" exclaimed Anna, the cook. "She's just this minute left."