Grandma Padgett picked up some sticks and chips. They attempted to unlock the door; but the lock was broken. “Anybody can go in!” remarked the head of the party. “But I don't know that we can even build a fire, and as to provisions, I s'pose we'll have to starve this night.”
But stumbling into a dark front room, and feeling hopelessly along the mantel, they actually found matches. The tenth one struck flame.
There were ashes and black brands in the fireplace, left there possibly, by the landlord's last moofer. Grandma Padgett built a fire to which the children huddled, casting fearful glances up the damp-stained walls. The flame was something like a welcome.
“Perhaps,” said Grandma with energy, “there are even provisions in the house. I wouldn't grudge payin' that man a good price and cookin' them myself, if I could give you something to eat.”
“We can look,” suggested Bobaday. “They'd be in the cellar, wouldn't they?”
“It's lots lonesomer than our house was the morning we came away,” chattered aunt Corinne, warming her long hands at the blaze.
And now beneath the floor began a noise which made even Grandma Padgett stand erect, glaring through her glasses.
“Something's in the cellar!” whispered Bobaday.