Fifteen minutes before she left the house, three dark figures had marched out single file down the street.  Two blocks from the house they had been met by a delegation of dark figures, and without a word being spoken, the little party had taken a side street that led to Overton Drive, a public highway that wound straight through the town out into the country.  The company had proceeded in absolute silence, and finally leaving the road had turned into the fields and plodded steadily on.  It was the new of the moon and the landscape was shrouded in heavy shadows.  On and still on the silent procession had traveled, and when their eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, had espied the outlines of a tumble-down, one-story house that stood out against the blackness of the night a halt had been made and each dark figure had taken from under her arm a bundle.  Then the faint rustle of paper accompanied by an occasional giggle or a smothered exclamation had been heard, and last but most remarkable, the dark figures had given place to a company of sheeted ghosts who had glided over the fields with true ghost-like mien and disappeared in a little grove just off the highway.

In the meantime, Elfreda had been received with acclamation by the treacherous sophomores, who vied with each other as to who should be her escort.  There were nine girls, and each of them also bore a bundle, which contained not sheets, but the eatables for the picnic.  This procession also set out in silence, which was broken as soon as the town was left behind.  Alberta, who walked with her arm linked in Elfreda’s, began to relate the story of the haunted house.

“Do you suppose for one minute that that house is really haunted?” said Elfreda sceptically.

“No one knows,” was the disquieting reply.  “People have seen strange sights there.”

“What sights?” demanded Elfreda.

“They say the murdered brother walks through the house and moans,” replied Alberta, shuddering slightly.

“That’s nonsense,” said Elfreda bravely.  Nevertheless, the idea was not pleasant to contemplate.  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she added.

“I dare you to go into the room where the man was murdered,” laughed Mary Hampton.

“I’m not afraid,” persisted Elfreda.

“Prove it, then,” taunted Mary.

“All right, I will,” retorted Elfreda defiantly.  “Show me the room when we get there and I’ll go into it.”

“I don’t think we ought to go near that old house at night,” protested a sophomore.  “We’d get into all sorts of trouble as it is, if the faculty knew we were out.”

“Now, don’t begin preaching,” snapped Alberta Wicks.  “If you are dissatisfied, go home.”

“I wish I’d stayed at home,” growled the other sophomore wrathfully.

While this conversation was being carried on, the party was rapidly nearing the haunted house.  They halted directly in front of it, and Mary Hampton said, “Now, Miss Briggs, make good your promise.”