The door opened straight on the ground and from under the low overhanging roof peeped one little window. A jasmine vine had been trained against the wall of the house and a hedge of acacia bushes formed a sort of peaceful barrier between the clearing and the advancing hosts of giant pine trees.
The door was open and they walked in boldly.
Inside were a few pieces of furniture, a cot, an old table and a chair.
“This must be a hermit’s house,” said Edward, who had forgotten all about himself in the excitement and interest of the adventure.
“He must be dead or something, then,” observed Nancy, looking about the room curiously. “Because I can see with half an eye that no one has lived here for some time.”
“It’s a snug little place,” said Elinor. “It’s almost cosy with this solid wall of green around it. Now, who do you suppose lived here and why did he do it?”
“He must have had some very good reason for hiding himself in this forest,” put in Billie, “but I hope if he is still living, he won’t begrudge us a few planks from his dwelling, and if he’s dead his spirit won’t rise up and haunt us for disturbing his earthly dwelling place.”
“Look,” cried Mary, who had been standing in the doorway.
“What is it?” demanded the others.
“I’m almost sure I saw some one. It was a man. He stood out against the green just for an instant. There was something white on his head like a bandage or a handkerchief.”