to do it, I suppose."

"Wh-who's going first?" asked Violet, regarding the gloomy bulk of the
rambling old house, now half hidden in the dusk, with troubled eyes.

"I am, of course," said Billie stoutly, adding with a gay little laugh:
"I guess it's my right, isn't it? Why, this is my house--the first I've
ever owned!"

"And welcome you be to it," murmured the old man, to be promptly cowed
by a withering look from Mrs. Gilligan.

"Come on," cried Billie again. "I'll go first, but you'll have to promise
to follow me in."

"Why, of course we'll follow you in," said Violet, loyal through all
her fear. "You don't suppose we'd let you go into that awful place
alone, do you?"

"Well, I like that!" cried Billie, leading the way up the stone-paved
walk. "Calling my beautiful old homestead an awful place."

"Yes, I'm surprised at you, Vi," added Laura, as she followed close at
Billie's heels. "Don't you know you should have some tact? Even if it is
awful, you shouldn't talk about it--"

Billie stopped and stared indignantly.

"If you say another word," she threatened, "I'll make you go first."

The threat had the desired effect, and both Violet and Laura protested
that it was the most beautiful place on the face of the earth, or words
to that effect.

"You'd better be giving the key to me," said Mrs. Gilligan. "We
can't stand out here talkin' all night. Besides, the door probably
has an old-fashioned lock on it, and they ain't a lock anywhere that
can fool me."

Billie meekly handed over the key, and Mrs. Gilligan marched majestically
before them up to the front door. She bent down to examine the lock,
then fitted the key into it.

With a groaning and squeaking of rusty hinges, the heavy door swung
inward, and the girls found themselves staring into a black well of
hallway that seemed to have no windows anywhere.

"Gracious! did anybody think to bring matches?" asked Laura in an
awed whisper.

"Sure and I did," Mrs. Gilligan's matter-of-fact voice reassured her.
"Five whole boxes I brought. But I've got something even better than that
for the present occasion."

She drew from the pocket of her coat a small electric torch and flashed
it into the interior of the house. The bright light showed them glimpses
of queer chairs standing about in odd corners and finally lighted up a
broad stairway.

"It's the hall," announced Mrs. Gilligan. "Now forward march, and we'll
soon find out where the lights are."

"The