“Nonsense, Bogud!” said Bart; “we’re going up.”
“Up, is it?” cried Pat; “‘deed, then, an ye’d betther not! Ye don’t know what it is that’s up there.”
As he spoke there sounded once more those peculiar knocks.
“Many’s the time I heard that,” said Pat. “It’s a black, bad place.”
“Wern’t you frightened?” asked Bogud, solemnly.
“Sure it cudn’t make any differ whether I wor frightened or not. The likes of me’s got to bear thim things.”
And now there came another uproar. It was yell after yell, so wild, so harsh, and so discordant, that the former noises were nothing in comparison.
Bogud beat a hasty retreat, and Jiggins backed into his doorway. The other boys fell back a little, but the “B. O. W. C.” stood their ground, and Bruce put his foot on the lowest step to ascend to the attic.
“Sure ye’ll not be goin up!” said Pat.
“Yes, we will,” said Bart. “Come along—all of you.”