“There is where he lives, moves and has his being,” declaimed Blake. “I guess he isn’t in,” he went on, as he rattled at the rickety door.
“Blake!” remonstrated his sister. “He may not like it.”
“Oh, we stand in good with Hanson,” declared Jack. “We keep him in tobacco money.”
“Horrid!” murmured Natalie.
“Let’s go in the mill,” suggested Jack. “There is some curious old-fashioned machinery there that’s worth seeing. This is an historical place.”
“I love old places,” murmured Natalie. “But, oh! My camera!”
A musty, old, and damp odor greeted them as they crossed the rotting threshold of the ancient mill.
“Mind the holes in the floor,” cautioned Jack. “It’s no fun to step into one!”
They advanced into the old structure and for a moment stood in the middle of the sagging floor. Overhead were cobwebbed beams and rafters, and from somewhere below came the faint gurgle of the former mill stream that had been wont, in years past, to turn the big wheel.
“It gives me the shivers!” confessed Mabel. “Let’s go——”