“Well, maybe it was,” suggested Laurie, when Polly paused.
“That’s what we thought, Nod, until we went to see. Then we remembered that there wasn’t any cellar!”
“Oh!” said Laurie.
“What happened then?” asked Lee, flicking a shell at George.
“It kept on happening every little while for two years. We got so we didn’t think any more about it. Mr. Farmer, the lawyer, said what we heard was probably a rat. But I know very well it wasn’t that. It was too regular. It was always just the same each time. At first we could just hear it a little, and then it grew louder and louder, and stopped. And then it began again, loud, and just sort of—of trailed off till you couldn’t hear it at all. I suppose we never would have heard it if it hadn’t been for Mama not sleeping very well, because it always came after midnight, usually about half-past twelve. After a while I didn’t hear it at all, because Mama stopped waking me up.”
“Spooks,” declared George, with unction. “The house is haunted, Polly.”
“Wish I lived there,” said Bob eagerly. “I’m crazy about ghosts. They told me that old Coven—I mean your uncle, Polly—haunted the house we’re in; but, gee! I’ve been around at all times of night and never seen a thing! There are lots of jolly, shivery noises—stairs creaking, and woodwork popping, and all that, you know; but nary a ghost. Look here, Polly! Let me sit down in the store some night, will you? I’d love to!”
“You’ve got funny ideas of fun,” murmured George.
“Oh, but it’s gone now,” said Mae. “Hasn’t it, Polly? You haven’t heard the noise for a long time, have you?”
“No, not for—oh, two years, I think. At least, that’s what Mama says. Maybe, though, she sleeps better and doesn’t hear things.”