"Haven't you any light?" she asked a little apprehensively, drawing
back as if hesitating to enter.
"Oh, yes," the other replied almost eagerly, it seemed. "There's a
lamp burning in the kitchen, and I'll light the gas in the front room.
Come on, please."
"Where is your mother?"
"She's layin' down on the floor in the kitchen. Come on, I've got a
match. I'll light the gas in the front room."
If Helen had obeyed a strong impulse that was tugging within her to
hold her back, she would have refused to enter. Perhaps the reason she
did not obey that impulse was the fact that a desperate effort to
think of another reasonable method of procedure was fruitless and she
must either go ahead as she had started or turn away in confusion and
leave the little girl in her distress and without an explanation. The
latter opened the door and Helen followed her inside.
It was difficult for the visiting Camp Fire girl to figure out any
reason why she should be fearful of anything this slip of a child
might do, and yet the first act of the latter after they were inside
sent through her a chill of terror. Slipping around her like an eel,
the little emissary of trouble pushed the door to and turned the key
in the lock.
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