“Not so very queer, either,” replied the father, “considering the good reason you had to forget it. However, we will make just one more look.”
It seemed to Dorothy that the shadows of night came down immediately—she wanted the light so much!
Over small hills and along winding paths they went, Major Dale keeping up with small effort to the light step of his daughter beside him.
“I would be frightened to death if you were not along,” Dorothy took breath to say. “I think this is the most lonely part of all our woodlands.”
“Is that the swamp?” asked the Major, looking toward a deep ravine that indicated a drop in the grade of the forest land.
“Yes,” replied Dorothy, “and the cave is at the other end.”
“Why, there are the ruins of the old Hastings homestead. Queer I never explored these parts, as long as I have been around here. We used to tramp through the Hasting’s farm years ago, but of late I had entirely forgotten the place.”
“The cave is the old ice house, I believe,” said Dorothy. “See, there it is, against that hill.”
“And I just thought I saw something dart through those bushes. See that brush move?”
“Oh, do you suppose it might be tramps?” asked Dorothy, trembling.