No one volunteered, and Cordy emerged long enough to say imploringly:—
"Do tell Miss Orne, or get the police;" then dived out of sight again, and lay quaking like an ostrich with its head in the sand.
"I won't! Miss Orne would think I was a fool, and the police don't arrest ghosts. I'll do it myself, and Julia will help me, I know. She is the bravest of you, and hasn't developed her biceps for nothing," said Sally, bent on keeping all the glory of the capture to themselves if possible.
Flattered by the compliment to her arms, Julia did not decline the invitation, but made a very sensible suggestion, which was a great relief to the timid, till Sally added a new fancy to haunt them.
"Perhaps it is one of the servants moon-struck or love-lorn. Myra looks sentimental, and is always singing:—
"I'm waiting, waiting, darling,
Morning, night, and noon; Oh, meet me by the river
When softly shines the moon."
"It's not Myra; I asked her, and she turned pale at the mere idea of going anywhere alone after dark, and said cook had seen a banshee gliding down the Lady's Walk one night, when she got up for camphor, having the face-ache. I said no more, not wanting to scare them; ignorant people are so superstitious."
Sally paused, and the girls all tried not to look "scared" or "superstitious," but did not succeed very well.
"What are you going to do?" asked Nelly, in a respectful tone, as Julia and Sally stood side by side, like Horatius and Herminius waiting for a Spurius Lartius to join them.
"Watch, like cats for a mouse, and pounce as soon as possible. All promise to say nothing; then we can't be laughed at if it turns out some silly thing, as it probably will," answered Sally.