“Stuff and rubbish!” said Mrs. Gilligan, as the team came to a stop before the house.  “A nice lot o’ talk I call that to fill the girls up with.  Rattlin’ of chains and hummin’ noises!  Huh!” And with her nose in the air to show her contempt of all such notions she swept out of the carriage.

The girls followed, and ran back to the wagon that contained their luggage and some provisions.  The boy who had been driving this wagon was already unloading it, and the old fellow who had told them such gloomy tales came hobbling back to lend a hand.

Billie fished in her pocketbook for the key to the house which was supposed to be haunted, and, finding it, held it up with a hand that was not quite steady.

“Come on,” she said.  “We’ve got to do it, I suppose.”

“Wh-who’s going first?” asked Violet, regarding the gloomy bulk of the rambling old house, now half hidden in the dusk, with troubled eyes.

“I am, of course,” said Billie stoutly, adding with a gay little laugh:  “I guess it’s my right, isn’t it?  Why, this is my house—­the first I’ve ever owned!”

“And welcome you be to it,” murmured the old man, to be promptly cowed by a withering look from Mrs. Gilligan.

“Come on,” cried Billie again.  “I’ll go first, but you’ll have to promise to follow me in.”

“Why, of course we’ll follow you in,” said Violet, loyal through all her fear.  “You don’t suppose we’d let you go into that awful place alone, do you?”

“Well, I like that!” cried Billie, leading the way up the stone-paved walk.  “Calling my beautiful old homestead an awful place.”

“Yes, I’m surprised at you, Vi,” added Laura, as she followed close at Billie’s heels.  “Don’t you know you should have some tact?  Even if it is awful, you shouldn’t talk about it—­”

Billie stopped and stared indignantly.

“If you say another word,” she threatened, “I’ll make you go first.”

The threat had the desired effect, and both Violet and Laura protested that it was the most beautiful place on the face of the earth, or words to that effect.

“You’d better be giving the key to me,” said Mrs. Gilligan.  “We can’t stand out here talkin’ all night.  Besides, the door probably has an old-fashioned lock on it, and they ain’t a lock anywhere that can fool me.”

Billie meekly handed over the key, and Mrs. Gilligan marched majestically before them up to the front door.  She bent down to examine the lock, then fitted the key into it.

With a groaning and squeaking of rusty hinges, the heavy door swung inward, and the girls found themselves staring into a black well of hallway that seemed to have no windows anywhere.

“Gracious! did anybody think to bring matches?” asked Laura in an awed whisper.

“Sure and I did,” Mrs. Gilligan’s matter-of-fact voice reassured her.  “Five whole boxes I brought.  But I’ve got something even better than that for the present occasion.”