Thankfuls Inheritance | Page 8

held there by the strong arm of Mrs. Barnes, Emily managed to push up the lower half of the window. The moment she let go of it, however, it fell with a tremendous bang.
"One of the old-fashioned kind, you might know," declared Thankful. "No weights nor nothin'. We'll have to prop it up with a stick. You wait where you are and I'll go get one. There's what's left of a woodpile out back here; that's where that crate came from."
She hastened away and was back in a moment with a stout stick. Emily raised the window once more and placed the stick beneath it.
"There!" panted her companion. "We've got a gangway anyhow. Next thing is to get aboard. You come down and give me a boost."
But Emily declined.
"Of course I shan't do any such thing," she declared, indignantly. "I can climb through that window a great deal easier than you can, Auntie. I'm ever so much younger. Just give me a push, that's all."
Her cousin demurred. "I hate to have you do it," she said. "For anybody that ain't any too strong or well you've been through enough tonight. Well, if you're so set on it. I presume likely you could make a better job of climbin' than I could. It ain't my age that bothers me though, it's my weight. All ready? Up you go! Humph! It's a mercy there ain't anybody lookin' on. . . . There! all right, are you?"
Emily's head appeared framed by the window sash. "Yes," she panted. "I--I think I'm all right. At least I'm through that window. Now what shall I do?"
"Take this lantern and go to one of the doors and see if you can unfasten it. Try the back door; that's the most liable to be only bolted and hooked. The front one's probably locked with a key."
The lantern and its bearer disappeared. Mrs. Barnes plodded around to the back door. As she reached it it opened.
"It was only hooked," said Emily. "Come in, Auntie. Come in quick!"
Thankful had not waited for the invitation; she was in already. She took the lantern from her relative's hand. Then she shut the door behind her.
"Whew!" she exclaimed. "If it don't seem good to get under cover, real cover! What sort of a place is this, anyhow, Emily?"
"I don't know. I--I've been too frightened to look. I--I feel like a--O, Aunt Thankful, don't you feel like a burglar?"
"Me? A burglar? I feel like a wet dishcloth. I never was so soaked, with my clothes on, in my life. Hello! I thought this was an empty house. There's a stove and a chair, such as it is. Whoever lived here last didn't take away all their furniture. Let's go into the front rooms."
The first room they entered was evidently the dining-room. It was quite bare of furniture. The next, however, that which Emily had entered by the window, contained another stove, a ramshackle what- not, and a broken-down, ragged sofa.
"Oh!" gasped Miss Howes, pointing to the sofa, "see! see! This ISN'T an empty house. Suppose--Oh, SUPPOSE there were people living here! What would they say to us?"
For a moment Thankful was staggered. Then her common-sense came to her rescue.
"Nonsense!" she said, firmly. "A house with folks livin' in it has somethin' in the dinin'-room besides dust. Anyhow, it's easy enough to settle that question. Where's that door lead to?"
She marched across the floor and threw open the door to which she had pointed.
"Humph!" she sniffed. "Best front parlor. The whole shebang smells shut up and musty enough, but there's somethin' about a best parlor smell that would give it away any time. Phew! I can almost smell wax wreaths and hair-cloth, even though they have been took away. No, this is an empty house all right, but I'll make good and sure for your sake, Emily. Ain't there any stairs to this old rattle-trap? Oh, yes, here's the front hall. Hello! Hello, up there! Hi-i!"
She was shouting up the old-fashioned staircase. Her voice echoed above with the unmistakable echo of empty rooms. Only that echo and the howl of the wind and roar of rain answered her.
She came back to the apartment where she had left her cousin.
"It's all right, Emily," she said. "We're the only passengers aboard the derelict. Now let's see if we can't be more comf'table. You set down on that sofa and rest. I've got an idea in my head."
The idea evidently involved an examination of the stove, for she opened its rusty door and peered inside. Then, without waiting to answer her companion's questions, she hurried out into the kitchen, returning with an armful of shavings and a few sticks of split pine.
"I noticed that woodbox in the kitchen when I fust come in," she said. "And 'twa'n't quite