The place did have rather an eerie look. Most of the window panes were broken and the steps 65 and narrow porch before the kitchen door had broken away, leaving traps for careless feet.
The thunder growled behind them. Amy quickened her steps. As she had said, she shuddered at the tempest. What might be of a disturbing nature in the old farmhouse could not, she thought, be as fearsome as the approaching tempest.
CHAPTER VIII
CARTER’S GHOST
On the broken porch of the abandoned house Amy stopped and waited for her chum to overtake her. When she looked back she cried out again. Forked lightning blazed against the lurid clouds. It was so sharp a display of electricity that Amy shut her eyes.
Jessie, still laughing, plunged up the steps and bumped right into the sagging door. It swung inward, creakingly. Amy peered over her chum’s shoulder.
“O-oh!” she crooned. “Do—do you see anything?”
“Nothing alive. Not even a rat.”