“What do you suppose it was?” gasped Amy, her face white in the lamp light. “I never heard anything so dreadful!”
“It was de ghosts, Miss Amy,” shrieked Phrosy, as she got lumberingly to her feet, threw her apron over her head, and dashed into her room, leaving them staring vacantly after her.
“Shut the door, somebody, do!” cried Jessie, in a voice just above a whisper. “It will keep out that sound. Listen—there it is again!”
“My advice is not to listen,” said Darry, in a strange, gruff voice. “I think it would do us all good to eat something.”
His last words were drowned by another shriek from Phrosy, and they all rushed into her room to find her standing before a window, her eyes rolling with fright. She was shaking as though she had the palsy.
They ran to the window and followed the direction of her pointing finger. The sight they witnessed then was enough to test the stoutest nerves.
Down by the swamp moving stealthily among the trees were shrouded, shadowy figures, white and vague of outline. While they watched, the figures disappeared slowly, seeming to dissolve into the shadows beyond their range of vision.
Phrosy was sobbing hysterically, and even the level-headed young folks were severely shaken.
“Let’s get out of here—you, too, Phrosy,” said Jessie suddenly. “It won’t do any good to stand there looking out toward the swamp and watching for things. We will stay on the other side of the house for the next hour or so.”
“What do you suppose the answer is, Darry?” Burd asked some time later, when they had so far pacified and cajoled Phrosy as to induce her to start preparations for a meal.