The upstairs room was damp and chilly. The girls hurriedly prepared to retire. Penny put up the window, snapped out the light and made a great running leap which landed her in bed.
“Listen to the wind howl,” she murmured, snuggling drowsily into her pillow. “Just the night for ghosts to be abroad.”
“Don’t!” Rosanna shivered, gripping her friend’s hand. “I can almost imagine that someone is coming up the stairway now! I’m afraid of this lonely old house.”
“I won’t let any mean old ghost get you,” Penny chuckled teasingly. “I love stormy nights.”
Rosanna lay awake long after her companion had fallen asleep. She listened restlessly to the crash of the tree branches against the roof, the creaking of old timbers and boards. But the steady beat of rain on the windowpanes had a soothing effect upon tense nerves. Presently she dozed.
Suddenly she found herself wide awake. She sat upright in bed, straining to hear. She was convinced that some unusual sound had aroused her.
Then she heard it again. A peculiar pounding noise downstairs.
She clutched Penny by the arm.
“What is it?” the latter muttered drowsily.
“Wake up! I think someone is trying to break into the house!”