“I am not afraid, Chris,” said Greta meekly.
Neither girl spoke again till they had taken the path along the wall. Over the tops of the vines the heat was dancing.
“The sun-fairies are on the vines!” murmured Greta to herself.
At the old house they stopped, and Christian, breathing quickly, pushed the door; it was immovable.
“Look!” said Greta, “they have screwed it!” She pointed out three screws with a rosy-tipped forefinger.
Christian stamped her foot.
“We mustn't stand here,” she said; “let's sit on that bench and think.”
“Yes,” murmured Greta, “let us think.” Dangling an end of hair, she regarded Christian with her wide blue eyes.
“I can't make any plan,” Christian cried at last, “while you stare at me like that.”
“I was thinking,” said Greta humbly, “if they have screwed it up, perhaps we shall screw it down again; there is the big screw-driver of Fritz.”