"Forgive me, please!" she pleaded. "I think I must be the most ungrateful girl alive."
"Well, I should say so!" cried Chet, to whom the description of the queer old house, while dismaying his sister, had appealed immensely. "Say, I'd like nothing better than to go out right now and look your property over, Billie. Big rooms and spooky halls and—say, Mother, it must have a cellar and an attic. What are they like?"
"I suppose," said his mother, smiling at his enthusiasm, "that since you seem to like the ghostly part, you would be more than ever pleased with the attic and cellar."
"As I remember it, the cellar was the most peculiar part of the whole queer place. Aunt Beatrice took me through it, and seemed immensely proud of the funny old tunnels and store-rooms that were tucked away in all sort of odd corners. The only thing I liked about it," she finished, with a reminiscent smile, "was the shelf-lined, icy room where she kept her fruit preserves."
"This gets better and better!" fairly crowed Chet. "A damp, gloomy old cellar with tunnels and storerooms in queer corners and—But you were going to tell us about the attic."
"Yes, the attic!" cried Billie, for by this time Chet had made her as much interested in her strange inheritance as he was. "Did it have trunks in it, Mother—and cobwebs?"
"Trunks, yes, but not cobwebs," smiled her mother, "for Aunt Beatrice was an excellent housekeeper—when she was at home."
"Then the attic wasn't spooky?" queried Chet, disappointed.
"I should say it was!" returned his mother, with an emphasis that set all his fears at rest. "It was the creepiest place I have ever been in, and I was never gladder in my life than when we left it for the more cheerful lower floor—though goodness knows that was dreary enough."
"Say, when are we going?" cried Chet, jumping to his feet, his face flushed with eagerness.