“Let’s go home,” Cara said presently. “I don’t care what time it is, I’ve had about enough. Even the ice cream social would have been more fun than this. I’ll be surprised if I can walk in the morning—every muscle in my poor body is lame.”
“All right,” Madge gave in reluctantly. “I suppose we may as well call it a night. Not much chance—” she broke off, grasping Cara by the hand. “Look!” she whispered tensely. “Someone is coming!”
Cara turned her head to gaze toward the rear gate. Cold chills raced down her spine. A man was standing at the fence, and she was certain it was the same person she had seen on the night of the initiation. He wore a white sweater which evidently had been the one thing that had impressed her before. At the time she had been so frightened that it had registered upon her mind as “something white” and she had jumped to the conclusion that a ghost was abroad.
The man looked quickly about in all directions, then unfastened the gate and entered the yard.
“He’s been here before all right,” Cara whispered, “or he wouldn’t know how to get that gate open.”
“Sh!” Madge warned.
She had not taken her eyes from the man. He walked directly to the lilac bush and picked up the spade. He was still too far away for her to see his face plainly.
The girls watched breathlessly as he walked slowly into the garden, pausing a short distance from the sundial. They saw him gaze thoughtfully about, and then he began to turn up the earth with his spade.
“He’s not digging where he did before,” Cara whispered. “I wish he would turn this way so we could see his face.”
Again Madge warned her friend to be silent, and they crouched motionless, watching, for perhaps ten minutes the man spaded steadily. Then with an exclamation of impatience, he refilled the hole.