“Oh, tell us,” the two commanded eagerly and in unison.

“She left a gold watch to Chet,” Mrs. Bradley told them.  “It is really a very beautiful watch, Chet, and worth a good deal of money.  And to Billie—­” She paused for emphasis and Billie wriggled impatiently.  “And to Billie she left her rambling old homestead at Cherry Corners.”

“A homestead at Cherry Corners!” gasped Billie, unable to believe her ears while Chet looked interested.  “What sort of a house is it, Mother?”

“I haven’t been there for a number of years,” replied her mother, knitting her brows in an effort to recall the details of Billie’s queer inheritance.  “As I remember it, it is an old-fashioned rambling affair.  It must have been considered rather handsome in its palmy years, and it has been in the Powerson family for generations.  In fact, I believe it dates back to revolutionary days.  It has great large rooms, and rather spooky, dark hallways.  I’m afraid I wasn’t very much impressed with it the first time I saw it,” she finished, with a smile.

“Wh-what a funny thing to leave me,” said Billie, her eyes big and round with wonder.  Then she added, without thinking—­as Billie always did:  “Oh, don’t I wish she had left me a hundred dollars instead!  It would have been much more useful!”

CHAPTER IX

GHOSTS AND THINGS

Billie was instantly sorry for her speech, as she saw the old troubled expression cross her father’s face.

“Forgive me, please!” she pleaded.  “I think I must be the most ungrateful girl alive.”

“Well, I should say so!” cried Chet, to whom the description of the queer old house, while dismaying his sister, had appealed immensely.  “Say, I’d like nothing better than to go out right now and look your property over, Billie.  Big rooms and spooky halls and—­say, Mother, it must have a cellar and an attic.  What are they like?”

“I suppose,” said his mother, smiling at his enthusiasm, “that since you seem to like the ghostly part, you would be more than ever pleased with the attic and cellar.”

“As I remember it, the cellar was the most peculiar part of the whole queer place.  Aunt Beatrice took me through it, and seemed immensely proud of the funny old tunnels and store-rooms that were tucked away in all sort of odd corners.  The only thing I liked about it,” she finished, with a reminiscent smile, “was the shelf-lined, icy room where she kept her fruit preserves.”

“This gets better and better!” fairly crowed Chet.  “A damp, gloomy old cellar with tunnels and storerooms in queer corners and—­But you were going to tell us about the attic.”

“Yes, the attic!” cried Billie, for by this time Chet had made her as much interested in her strange inheritance as he was.  “Did it have trunks in it, Mother—­and cobwebs?”

“Trunks, yes, but not cobwebs,” smiled her mother, “for Aunt Beatrice was an excellent housekeeper—­when she was at home.”