She was still in great distress of mind over the ridiculous incident of the morning and did not want to see the other girls when they came home. So taking a pillow and a book, she wandered down the river path to a quiet shady spot among the willows and spent the afternoon in solitude. When the other girls returned home Sahwah was nowhere to be found. This did not greatly surprise them, however, for they were used to her impetuous nature and knew she was hiding somewhere. Hinpoha and Gladys were up-stairs removing the dust of the road from their faces and hands when they heard a stealthy footstep overhead. “She’s hiding in the attic!” said Hinpoha.
“She’ll melt up there,” said Gladys, “it must be like an oven. Let’s coax her down and don’t any of us say a word about the play. She must feel terrible about it.”
So it was agreed among the girls that no mention of Sahwah’s mishap should be made, and Hinpoha went to the foot of the attic stairs and called up: “Come on down, Sahwah, we’re all going out on the river.” There was no answer. Hinpoha called again: “Please come, Sahwah, we need you to steer the raft.” Still no answer. Hinpoha went up softly. She thought she could persuade Sahwah to come down if none of the others were around. But when she reached the top of the stairs there was no sign of Sahwah anywhere. The place was stifling, and Hinpoha gasped for breath. Sahwah must be hiding among the old furniture. Hinpoha moved things about, raising clouds of dust that nearly choked her, and calling to Sahwah. No answer came, and she did not find Sahwah hidden among any of the things. Gladys came up to see what was going on, followed by Migwan.
“She doesn’t seem to be up here after all,” said Hinpoha, pausing to take breath. “It’s funny; I certainly thought I heard someone up here.”
“Don’t you remember the time I thought I heard someone up here in the night and you said it was the noise made by rats or mice?” asked Migwan. “It was probably that same thing again.”
“It must have been,” said Hinpoha.
“Maybe it was the ghost of that Mrs. Waterhouse, who died before she had her attic cleaned, and comes back to move the furniture,” said Gladys. In spite of its being daylight an unearthly thrill went through the veins of the girls. The whole thing was so mysterious and uncanny.
Migwan was looking around the attic. “Who broke that window?” she asked, suddenly. The side window, the one near the Balm of Gilead tree, was shattered and lay in pieces on the floor.
“It wasn’t broken the day we brought Miss Mortimer up,” said Gladys. “It must have happened since then.”
“There must have been someone up here to-day,” said Migwan. “Do you suppose—” here she stopped.