“Well, I’ve had the most awful dreams,” complained Violet, turning over as if she intended to go to sleep again.  “I’ve done nothing but dream of ghosts and motor cars all night.”

At the mention of ghosts Mrs. Gilligan broke into hearty laughter.

“Ghosts?” she said, her eyes sparkling.  “I shouldn’t think you’d be talking of ghosts any more.  Here you’ve spent a whole night in the house and no spirits have bothered you yet.  I should think you’d be satisfied.”

“Oh, but didn’t you hear that noise in the night?” Violet asked her, turning over and forgetting the nap she had been about to take.  “We girls were just about scared to death.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Laura, who, whether she had really been frightened or not, never liked to have anybody tell her about it.

“You were scared too, what’s the use of denying it?” Violet demanded hotly, but Mrs. Gilligan interrupted them.

“Never mind about that,” she said, with a smile.  “Just tell me about this noise you thought you heard.”

So the girls told her about their weird experience of the night before, all talking at once and making it as hard as possible for Mrs. Gilligan to understand what it was all about.

“A noise that sounded like a motor car,” she said, when they had finished and had paused for lack of breath.  “Well, I don’t see what’s so very queer about that.  May have been some joy-riders or something.”

“But who would be joy-riding in this part of the country?” Laura objected.  “The country people hereabouts probably don’t know what the word means.”

“That particular sport does seem to belong to the idle rich,” Mrs. Gilligan agreed, with a chuckle.  “Well,” she added, getting up and starting for the door, “whatever it is, or was, we needn’t go without our breakfast because of it.  How would you like some bacon and eggs and biscuits?”

The suggestion worked like a charm, and before Mrs. Gilligan had finished the girls were out of bed and feeling about for their clothes.

“You know the room doesn’t look half bad by daylight,” remarked Violet, as she was arranging her hair before an elaborately framed old mirror.  “And it surely is quite clean.”

“But it’s horribly gloomy, just as mother said.”  Billie was regarding the dingy woodwork, now almost black with age, and the huge four-poster with its funereal canopied top, and the large pictures of dead and gone ancestors that adorned the walls.  “The only really good things in the whole room are the tables and chairs.  They look,” she added hopefully, “as if they might bring in a little money.  Perhaps I’ll be able to pay for the statue after all.”

“Oh, and I’m just crazy to see the rest of the house by daylight,” said Laura, clapping her hands.  “Come on, you slow pokes, aren’t you ever going to be ready?”

“We’re ready now,” said Billie, putting an arm about Violet and hurrying her to the door.  “Oh, is that bacon I smell—­and coffee?” she asked as through the open door came a whiff of the good things below.