“What is it?” gasped Ruth.

Somewhere in the ruin of the mill there was a noise.  It might have been the voice of an animal or of a bird, but it sounded near enough like a human being to scare all three of the young people on the doorstep.

“Sa-ay,” quavered Curly.  “You don’t suppose there are such things as ghosts, do you, girls?”

“No, I don’t!” snapped Ruth.  “Don’t try to scare us either, Curly.”

“Honest, I’m not.  I’m right here,” cried the boy.  “You know I never made that noise——­”

“There it is again!” exclaimed Ann.

The sound was like the cry of something in distress.  Ruth got up suddenly and tried to put on a brave front.  “I can’t sit here and listen to that,” she said.

“Let’s go,” urged Ann.  “I’m ready.”

“Oh, say——­” began Curly, when Ruth interrupted him by seizing the lantern.

“Don’t fret, Curly Smith,” she said.  “We’re not going without finding out what that sound means.”

“Maybe it’s young owls, and the old one will come back and pick our eyes out,” suggested Ann.

“Get a club, Curly,” commanded Ruth.  “We’ll be ready, then, for man or beast.”

This order gave Curly confidence, and made him pluck up his own waning courage.  These girls depended upon him, and he was not the boy to back down before even a ghostly Unknown.

He found a club and went side by side with Ruth into the mill.  The sound that had disturbed them was repeated.  Ruth was sure, now, that it was somebody sobbing.

“Amy!  Amy Gregg!” she called again.

“Pshaw!” murmured Ann.  “It isn’t Amy.  She’d have been out of here in a hurry when we shouted for her before.”

Ruth was not so sure of that.  They came to a break in the flooring.  Once there had been steps here leading down into the cellar of the mill, but the steps had rotted away.

“Amy!” called Ruth again.  She knelt and held the lantern as far down the well as she could reach.  The sound of sobbing had ceased.

“Amy, dear!” cried Ruth.  “It’s Ruth and Ann, And Curly is with us.  Do answer if you hear me!”

There was a murmur from below.  Ann cried out in alarm, but Curly exclaimed:  “I believe that’s Amy, Ruth!  She must be hurt—­the silly thing.  She’s tumbled down this old well.”

“How will we get to her?” cried Ruth.  “Amy! how did you get down there?  Are you hurt, Amy?”

“Go away!” said a faint voice from below.

“Old Scratch!  Isn’t that just like her?” groaned Curly.  “She was hiding from us.”

“Here,” said Ruth, drawing up the lantern and setting it on the floor.  “It can’t be very deep.  I’m going to drop down there, Curly, and then you pass down the lantern to me.”

“You’ll break your neck, Ruth!” cried Ann.

“No.  I’m not going to risk my neck at all,” Ruth calmly affirmed.

She set the lantern on the broken floor and swung herself down into the black hole.  She hung by her hands and her feet did not touch the bottom.  Suddenly she felt a qualm of terror.  Perhaps the cellar was a good deal deeper than she had supposed!