The "Automobile Girls" and Olive were sitting in the dining room of old Treasureholme. It was a massive, but cheerful room, the ceiling studded with great beams. A fireplace constructed of boulders of varying shapes and sizes, large enough to take a six-foot log, occupied the greater part of one side of the room. Olive Presby had been telling her guests various anecdotes relating to Treasureholme and as usual the conversation had turned to the tale of the long-lost treasure.
An old-fashioned bookcase, extending all the way across one end of the room, was filled with leather-bound books. Bab regarded them longingly. She made up her mind to browse among these old volumes at the first opportunity.
"Help yourself any time you wish," smiled Olive, who had observed Bab's eager glances at the bookcase. Barbara blushed that her thoughts should have been read so easily.
"Oh, I should love to!" she answered simply.
Mollie cast an apprehensive glance about her.
"Are you sure there are no ghosts in this old place?" she asked.
"Of course not. What made you think of that?" laughed Ruth.
"In all the stories I ever read about buried treasure there was sure to be a ghost to guard it," replied Mollie. "Perhaps Treasureholme has a ghost, too. At any rate, I feel spooky."
"So do I," agreed Grace. "Did you hear that noise?"
"It sounds to me like rats or mice," ventured Barbara. "Of course it is. I know the sound. I hope they don't come out while I am here."