“You mean to tell me,” demanded Jim Brown, “that those people left town and expect you to stay in that house alone tonight?”
“Why, yes,” said MacMillen, preparing to leave. “They’ve gone to Virginia and will be back Thursday, when the funeral will take place.”
“And they left the body lying in the living-room?”
“Of course. Where did you expect them to leave it—on the porch?”
“And you are going to sleep in that house alone—with the corpse?”
“Yes. What of it? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Taking his hat and coat, MacMillen departed.
“Pleasant dreams!” called Brown, as the door slammed behind him.
The night was cold and the atmosphere was clear and “hard.” The snow crackled under his feet as he walked.
“Silly idea,” he muttered; but he couldn’t help wondering why the Mitchells, with whom he made his home, had left the house on the same day that Mrs. Mitchell’s grandmother had passed away.