CHAPTER VII
THE CHAINED DOOR
It seemed to the two boys that Frank's knock sounded weirdly through the house, though it did not bring any immediate result. Accordingly, he again brought his knuckles against the door panel, this time with even greater force than before.
"That fetched them, Frank," muttered Bluff. "I can hear somebody shuffling along the hall and heading this way."
Presently they heard a bolt withdrawn, a rather ponderous affair it seemed; and somehow this struck Frank as rather queer. Why should any one living so far away from town, and off the beaten track of travel, take such pains to secure his door?
"Gee whiz! I shouldn't think they'd ever be bothered with hoboes or sneak thieves away up in this part of the country," whispered Bluff, who always had a mind of his own and was hard to repress.
The door was slowly and cautiously opened. Frank saw that it was still held by a stout chain, so that no one outside could enter against the will of the inmates. It made him think of one of the old feudal castles he had lately been reading about in Sir Walter Scott's romances, where they had draw-bridges, moats, and a port-cullis to protect them against assault.
A face was seen in the narrow opening. It was an old face, wrinkled, so that at first Frank imagined it might belong to Aaron himself. Then he discovered his mistake, for the white hair belonged to a woman, evidently the housekeeper of the hermit.