Rosemary promptly turned and fled and then, the second floor gained, turned and hung over the railing to watch Winnie unchain and unbolt and unlock the front door and then admit two dripping, but cheerful figures, in yellow oilskins.
"Raining and blowing great guns," said Warren's voice. "We got up to close one of the windows and saw your house lighted—thought maybe someone was sick."
"You're the best boys who ever breathed," the grateful Winnie informed them. "Nothing's the matter except I'm trying to find out what makes—that! Listen!"
"You've left the upstair doors open," said Richard promptly. "There's something about the way this house is constructed that does it. Whenever there's a wind of any account, all the second story doors have to be closed; it's the one drawback. I suppose Mrs. Hildreth didn't think to tell you."
"We left our doors open to-night, because we're lonely without Mrs. Willis," was Winnie's simple explanation. "Rosemary was down with me, but she left when she heard you—I daresay she's listening up in the hall now."
"Of course I am," said Rosemary. "Ask Warren and Richard to stay, Winnie; there is the guest room all ready."
"You go up and go to bed this minute," commanded Winnie, whose invitations, like the queen's, usually brooked no refusal. "Now I know the wind makes that howl, I'm not the least bit nervous, but I'd rather have someone around to ask in case something else turns up."
Nothing more of a disturbing nature "turned up" that night and the household settled down and slept peacefully, secure in the knowledge that very real protection, in the persons of the two husky lads, was close at hand. Winnie summoned them at five o'clock the next morning—knowing that Mr. Hildreth would not easily forgive a delayed morning start—and actually had coffee and her famous waffles ready for them at that hour.
"Send for us any time," grinned Warren when he saw the table set.
"Any time you need aid, Winnie—or plan to serve waffles."