“I can’t find my knife anywhere,” growled Willie—“must have dropped it among this stuff.”
Several pairs of hands helped to unload the vehicle, but the missing property was not discovered.
“That’s your fault, Cran Beaumont; if we hadn’t come to this old farmhouse I’d have——”
“Let’s go in and see the rooms, Willie,” interrupted Dave Brandon, pleasantly.
“Sure; no use lookin’ for that old ten-center; it’s most likely lyin’ on the prairie five miles from here,” said Cranny. “You’re a careless kid.”
“I couldn’t help it,” grumbled Willie, scrambling to the ground.
The crowd followed the inventor and his sons into the house.
“Go right up-stairs, boys,” said Mr. Ogden, Senior. “Any rooms but the two on the eastern side are at your disposal.”
Presently the lads were on the second floor walking through the various apartments. Some had queer-shaped recesses; others closets, but without a vestige of their doors remaining. The light which came in through the dusty panes was not enough to dispel a heavy air of gloom. A few pieces of furniture, of a ponderous design, lifted themselves from obscurity by sharp touches of light and dense shadows.
“Oh, ginger! If this isn’t the worst ever!” growled Willie, disgustedly. “Bet nobody’s swung a broom in here since the year minus one. An’ I see cobwebs, too!”