cows or breaking ponies," said Helen, drily.

"Humph! I don't believe you did either of those vulgar things," declared
Flossie, suddenly.

"You are mistaken. I do them both, and do them well," returned Helen,
gravely. "But they are _not_ vulgar. No more vulgar than your sister
Belle's golf. It is outdoor exercise, and living outdoors as much as one
can is a sort of religion in the West."

"Well," said Flossie, who had recovered her breath now. "I don't care what
you do outdoors. You can do algebra in the house! And I'm real thankful to
you, Cousin Helen."

"You are welcome, Flossie," returned the other, gravely; but then she went
her way to her own room at the top of the house. Flossie did not ask her
to remain after she had done all she could for her.

But Helen had found plenty of reading matter in the house. Her cousins and
uncle might ignore her as they pleased. With a good book in her hand she
could forget all her troubles.

Now she slipped into her kimono, propped herself up in bed, turned the
gas-jet high, and lost herself in the adventures of her favorite heroine.
The little clock on the mantel ticked on unheeded. The house grew still.
The maids came up to bed chattering. But still Helen read on.

She had forgotten the sounds she had heard in the old house at night. Mrs.
Olstrom had mentioned that there were "queer stories" about the
Starkweather mansion. But Helen would not have thought of them at this
time, had something not rattled her doorknob and startled her.

"Somebody wants to come in," was the girl's first thought, and she hopped
out of bed and ran to unlock it.

Then she halted, with her hand upon the knob. A sound outside had arrested
her. But it was not the sound of somebody trying the latch.

Instead she plainly heard the mysterious "step--put; step--put" again. Was
it descending the stairs? It seemed to grow fainter as she listened.

At length the girl--somewhat shaken--reached for the key of her door
again, and turned it. Then she opened it and peered out.

The corridor was faintly illuminated. The stairway itself was quite dark,
for there was no light in the short passage below called "the
ghost-walk."

The girl, in her slippers, crept to the head of the flight. There she
could hear the steady, ghostly footstep from below. No other sound within
the great mansion reached her ears. It _was_ queer.

To and fro the odd step went. It apparently drew nearer, then
receded--again and agai