“You said it!” cried Laura, making a rush for lower floor with Billie and Violet not very far behind her.  “And it isn’t going to be more than about two minutes before I taste that same bacon and eggs.”

When they reached the lower hall they were surprised to see that it looked almost as gloomy and forbidding as it had the night before, in spite of the fact that the front door was open and sunlight was streaming through.

“Ugh!” said Laura, with a shudder, “I don’t wonder that they had gloomy dispositions in the old days if they had to live in houses like these.  It’s enough to give one the creeps.”

“I’m glad you like my property so much,” said Billie, with a demure little smile.  “I haven’t heard you say one nice thing about it yet.”

“We have treated our hostess rather rudely, haven’t we?” laughed Violet, putting an arm about Billie and drawing her out into the sunshine.  “But really, Billie, we’re quite sure that you don’t like it any better than we do.”

“And you are quite right,” Billie assured her, then added, breaking away and running a little in front of them:  “Girls, let’s see if we can find any signs of that car we heard last night.”

Eagerly they scanned the rocky road, but could see no traces of any vehicle that would be big enough to make the noise they had heard the night before.

“The plot thickens,” said Laura, as they started back to the house to eat the bacon and eggs and biscuits.  “We hear a car, but see no traces of it.”

“It must have been a spirit car,” said Violet, adding, with a plaintive little sigh that made the girls laugh:  “In spite of all my perfectly good training, I’m beginning to believe in ghosts.”

After breakfast the girls roamed around the big house, nosing into corners, calling each other’s attention to this and that queer ornament or article of furniture—­and there were plenty of them,—­and otherwise thoroughly enjoying themselves.  But as yet they did not venture into the gloomy cellar with its mysterious tunnels.

In the drawing-room they found a queer old piano which Violet declared must date back farther than Revolutionary days and which Billie, amid gibes and laughter from her chums, tried to play.

After she had tried and failed on half a dozen different compositions, she gave up the attempt, and they roamed upstairs, looking through one room after another until Billie accidentally opened the door that led to the attic.

“Here’s where we want to go, girls,” she cried.  “Mother said this was the spookiest place in the whole house—­except the cellar.”

“Hadn’t we better get Mrs. Gilligan to go with us?” asked Violet, holding back.  “After last night I’ve had enough spooky experiences to last me a week.”

“Oh, come on,” cried Laura, running ahead of them up the stairs.  “I’ll show you two ’fraid cats—­”

“Who’s a ’fraid cat?” cried Billie, starting in hot pursuit.  “I’ll have you know that nobody dares call me such names and get away with it.  Come on, Vi, let’s murder her.”