She insisted upon giving Henrietta the bulk of her own lunch and all the tidbits she could find in Jessie’s lunchbox. The freckle-faced girl began systematically to fill up the hollow with which she was accredited. It was evident that the good food made Henrietta quite forget the so-called ha’nts.
The rain continued to fall torrentially; the thunder muttered almost continually, but in the distance; again and again the lightning flashed.
Jessie Norwood fed the fire on the hearth until the warmth of it could be felt to the farther end of the big old kitchen. She and Henrietta were fast becoming dried, and their outer clothing could soon be put on again.
“I wonder if Momsy was scared when the storm broke,” ruminated Jessie. “She thinks the aerial may attract lightning.”
“Nothing like that,” declared Amy cheerfully. “But I wish we had a radio sending set here and could talk to her––”
“Ow! What’s that?”
Even Henrietta stopped eating, looked upward at the dusty ceiling, and listened for a repetition of the sound. It came in a moment—a sudden thump—then the thrashing about of something on 74 the bare boards of the floor of the loft over the kitchen.
“O-oh!” squealed Amy, jumping up from the table.
“What can it be?” demanded Jessie Norwood, and her face expressed fear likewise.
Henrietta took another enormous bite of sandwich; from behind that barrier she said in a muffled tone: