“I had better dress first,” she decided, “and come up again for the cap. I am—so—nervous——”
No need to make the confession, for even her hands, young and usually steady, actually dropped the velvet coat right on the dusty attic floor.
No time for looking in the mirror. The knickers were kept up with round garters now, a Scout acquisition, and the thin white blouse that went under the jacket, went under very quickly—fullness and strings jabbed in wherever space allowed.
In a remarkably short time she was inside the entire outfit. One glimpse in the glass assured her she was again garbed as the fickle prince. Then for the cap.
“I have time to run and get it,” she assured herself. “Of course, I must have that cap.”
Back to the attic, now a shade darker, and then again into the mysteries of the costume chest, she rummaged.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed. “I’ll be—here it is! Thank goodness!” She just jabbed it on her head. A sound startled her. She stood still, every sense alert.
“What was it?” she instinctively asked.
Again. It—was—a low—moan!
Pausing only long enough to make sure her nerves were not fooling her, Nora heard again, distinctly, a sound, a human or inhuman moan! Then she rushed down the stairs, kept on rushing until she reached the street door, and realizing no person was upon the premises, ran down the road, straight for Chickadee Camp.