“Poor old father,” said Glan, compassionately, “it does upset him so.”
Jack and Molly were glad of the hot broth, and Aunt Janet, as she fussed about them anxiously, was pleased to see that the steaming bowls were soon emptied.
“Sleep well, for there is hard work before you; but courage—and everything will be well,” said Glan, beaming down at them as he wished them good-night. While his father shook his head mournfully, and sighed as he gave them each a limp hand.
Aunt Janet lit two long candles, and conducted them up a flight of high narrow stairs to the top of the house where there were two small rooms with little white beds, and freshly laundered window curtains.
“Good-night, dearies,” she said. “Blow the candles out safely. I hope you’ll find everything you want here.” Her eyes grew very kind. “I had a little girl and boy once,” she said, “and I know they’d like you to use their things—if they knew—so I’ve put them all out for you. They were just about your age, and I—and they—good-night, dearies,” she stooped suddenly and kissed them each on the forehead.
CHAPTER VIII
Aunt Janet Puts on her Best Bonnet
A sunbeam creeping through the window and along the floor to Molly’s pillow awoke her in the morning; she sat up with a start, puzzled for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings; then she remembered—and giving a long sigh, snuggled down again for a few more minutes while she thought things over.
How strange it all seemed, just like some wonderful dream, she thought—and yet it was not a dream. Here were she and Jack in the middle of a real, exciting adventure. An adventure in which they were taking an important, and (she hoped) useful part. What would be the result of their search for the Black Leaf? Would either of them find it? And what had Old Nancy meant by saying that she thought only one of them would be successful? Wouldn’t she and Jack be allowed to search together, Molly wondered. She hoped Jack wouldn’t be sent to one part of the country, and she to another. She tried to recall all the information and warnings that had been given to them about the Pumpkin, and the more she recalled, the more difficult the task in front of them appeared to be.
Molly stretched out her arm and fumbled about in the clothes that lay on a chair by the bedside; she presently drew forth the box of matches, Old Nancy’s gift, and proceeded to examine this attentively, it being her first opportunity of doing so. Just an ordinary box of matches—at least, so it appeared—only there was no maker’s name on the outside, simply a dark blue wrapper. There were a dozen matches inside—Molly counted. “I wonder if Jack has got the same number,” she thought. Then hearing a distant clock strike seven, she put the match box back in her satchel and sprang out of bed.