“We need a hammer,” Judy remarked, ignoring him.
“Here’s the one we were using before. We forgot it and left it here. But where is the paint?”
“Didn’t you take it?”
“No, I thought you did.”
“That’s odd,” declared Judy. “It really looks as if someone’s stolen it. I’m glad they left the hammer, anyway.”
“What,” asked Horace, “are you trying to do? I suppose I’ll find you building a little row of cottages next. If you’re going to take in tourists it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Cottages would look quite cozy nestled in among the trees in the haunted grove.”
“Why do you call it that?” demanded Judy.
“The name just came back to me,” Horace laughed. “Grandpa called it that, and he told me once that the trees talked. I heard them myself when I was just a little fellow. It scared me nearly out of my wits.”
“It scared quite a lot of us today,” said Honey.
Judy nudged her to keep quiet, but it was too late.