Windows were void of glass, doors hung uncertainly on one hinge, moldy wall-paper drooped down from the ceiling like unlovely Spanish moss, and in many of the rooms the dampness and rain had loosened the plaster which had fallen.
There were some old boxes, a broken chair or two, and a moldy horsehair settee that, in bygone days, must have graced the closed-up parlor, opened only for marriages or deaths. Or, perchance, on its glossy and slippery surface, lovers had sat long ago.
“Ugh!” exclaimed Cora, with a little shudder. “Come on out. It gives me the creeps in here.”
“Yes, I guess there’s nothing to gain by staying,” Jack remarked. “Nobody home, and there’s no use wasting time.”
“I wish we were home,” said Belle.
“And I. At least, back in camp,” added her sister.
As they went from the house they saw out in the road a man driving a horse attached to a farm wagon.
“Oh, there’s something human at last!” cried Cora. “Wait, please, we want to ask you something!” she called impulsively.
But the man had already stopped of his own accord, and a look of surprise came over his face as he saw the party of young folks come out of the abandoned house.
“Can you tell us the way to Mountain View?” asked Jack.