“Have you talked with Mollie?” Miss Sallie inquired.
Bab nodded, and replied thoughtfully: “The truth of the matter is, Mollie knows less on the subject than the rest of us. All that she can tell is that she was sitting quietly at the bottom of the ravine, when suddenly a shower of leaves fell over her head, and she heard the noise of feet running along the bank above her. Determined to discover what had startled her, Mollie climbed up the ravine and kept on with her pursuit until she was completely lost. She must have wandered around all day. Finally she was so tired she sat down to rest. When she awoke Ruth and I had found her.”
“But Grace’s sweater! Where did it come from?” asked Miss Sallie weakly.
Ceally who entered the room at this moment, with her arms full of logs for the fire, caught the end of the conversation. She looked about her cautiously. Naki, her husband, was some distance away, cutting down the underbrush which was growing too high near their cabin.
“Miss,” whispered Ceally cautiously, “they do say there is a ghost up on that mountain. It must have been a ghost that led Miss Mollie on that lost trail. Once you strike that trail, there ain’t no way of finding your way back again, unless you follow some such clue as Miss Ruth’s bits of paper.”
“Ghosts! Utter nonsense, Ceally!” scolded Miss Sallie. But under her breath she confessed to herself: “If anything in this world could bring me to believe in ghosts it would be this mysterious occurrence.”
Ruth flew in at the door.
“Aunt Sallie,” she cried, “here is a man on horseback, with a note from Mr. Latham. He wants us to come down and spend the afternoon with him. He says he will send for us in a carriage that can come almost all the way up the hill, so we need only walk a little way. Do let’s go! Want to, Bab?” Ruth finished.
Miss Sallie looked dubious. “It is a good deal of a task, child, to go down this hill, except when we mean to stay down,” she protested.
“Oh, no, Aunt Sallie!” Ruth begged. “You know Naki goes down the hill every day, on some errand or other. I have been to Lenox twice myself and to Pittsfield once. I won’t give you and Bab these letters, unless you promise to accept. One is for Bab, from her mother; the other is for you, from father.”