“Thar’s some ‘freshments fur yo’ in de dinin’-room,” she said; and the girls were glad for the cool milk and the tiny frosted cakes which a negro girl served them.  Sylvia wondered if Flora ever did anything for herself; for there seemed to be so many negro servants who were on the alert to wait upon all the white people at the “big house.”

“Come up to my room, girls, and rest until it’s time to dress for supper,” said Flora.

Flora’s room was just across the hall from the one where Grace and Sylvia were to sleep.  Instead of a small white bed like theirs there was a big bed of dark mahogany with four tall, high posts.  The bed was so high that there was a cushioned step beside it.  The portrait of a lady hung over a beautiful inlaid desk, and Flora pointed to it with evident pride.

“That’s my great-grandmother; and her father built this house.  My mother says that she was Lady Caroline, and that she was so beautiful that whenever she went to Charleston people would run after her coach just to look at her,” and Flora looked at her companions expectantly, quite forgetting that she had told them the story before.

“Oh, Flora!  Every time I come out here you tell me about your wonderful great-grand-mother,” said Grace, “and you used to tell me that her ghost haunted this house.”

“Well, it does,” declared Flora.

Sylvia had never heard of Lady Caroline’s ghost.  “Do tell me about it, Flora,” she urged.

There was a wide cushioned seat with many pillows beneath the windows, and here the girls established themselves very comfortably.

“Yes, tell Sylvia the story,” said Grace, piling up several cushions behind her back.  “Of course it isn’t true, but it’s thrilling.”

“It is true,” persisted Flora.  “My mother says that her own governess saw Lady Caroline’s ghost.  And that she had on the very hat she has on in the portrait, and the same blue dress and lace collar.  You know there’s a secret stairway in this house.  It leads from one of the closets in your room down to a closet in my father’s library and out-of-doors, and Lady Caroline’s ghost always comes in that way.”

Sylvia looked up at the beautiful pictured face with a little shiver.  “I guess that the governess dreamed it,” she said.

“Of course she did,” declared Grace.  “I think you look like that picture, Flora,” she added.

“Well, whether you believe it or not, everybody knows that this is a haunted house,” persisted Flora.  “Why, there is an account of it in a book.”

But Grace shook her head laughingly.  “Flora, show Sylvia your lovely lace-work,” she said.

Flora nodded, but Sylvia was sure that she was not pleased at Grace’s refusal to believe in the ghost.

“Mammy!  Mam-m-e-e,” called Flora, and in a moment the black woman stood bobbing and smiling in the doorway.

“Bring my lace-work,” said Flora.

“Yas, Missy,” and Mammy trotted across the room to a little table in the further corner and brought Flora a covered basket.  She opened it and set it down in front of her little mistress.