Barnes, had a
different and distinct quality of its own. It sounded--yes, it sounded
human.
Thankful dropped the patchwork comforter.
"Who's that?" she asked, sharply.
There was no answer. No sounds except those of the storm. Thankful
picked up the comforter.
"Humph!" she said aloud--talking to herself was a habit developed during
the years of housekeeping for deaf old Mrs. Pearson. "Humph! I must be
gettin' nerves, I guess."
She began folding the old quilt in order to make it easier to carry
downstairs. And then she heard another groan, or sigh, or combination
of both. It sounded, not outside the window or outside the house, but in
that very room.
Again Mrs. Barnes dropped the comforter. Also she went out of the room.
But she did not go far. Halfway across the floor of the adjoining room
she stopped and put her foot down, physically and mentally.
"Fool!" she said, disgustedly. Then, turning on her heel, she marched
back to the little bedroom and picked up the lantern; its flame had
dwindled to the feeblest of feeble sparks.
"Now then," said Thankful, with determination, "whoever--or--or whatever
thing you are that's makin' that noise you might just as well show
yourself. If you're hidin' you'd better come out, for I'll find you."
But no one or no "thing" came out. Thankful waited a moment and then
proceeded to give that room a very thorough looking-over. It was such
a small apartment that the process took but little time. There was no
closet.
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