The Girls of Hillcrest Farm Part 12

She had not been afraid of Cyrus Pritchett, but 'Phemie's irreverence for the spirits of the old house shocked her.

"All right," laughed the younger girl. "We'll cut out the ghosts, then."

"We most certainly _will_. If I met a ghost here I'd certainly cut him dead!"

'Phemie went forward boldly and opened the door leading into the big kitchen. It was gloomy there, too, for the shutters kept out most of the light. The girls could see, however, that it was a well-furnished room.

They were delighted, too, for this must be their living-room until they could set the house to rights.

"Dust, dust everywhere," said 'Phemie, making a long mark in it with her finger on the dresser.

"But _only_ dust. We can get cleaned up here all right by evening. Come!

unhook the shutters and let in the light of day."

The younger girl raised one of the small-paned window sashes, unbolted the shutter, and pushed both leaves open. The light streamed in and almost at once Lucas's head appeared.

"How does it look to ye--eh?" he asked, grinning. "Gee! the hearth's all cleared and somebody's had a fire here."

"It must have been a long time ago," returned Lyddy, noting the crusted ashes between the andirons.

"Wa-al," said Lucas, slowly. "I'll git to work with the axe an' soon start ye a fire there, B-r-r-r! it's cold as a dog's nose in there," and he disappeared again.

But the sunlight and air which soon flooded the room through all the windows quickly gave the long-shut-up kitchen a new atmosphere.

'Phemie already had on a working dress, having changed at the Pritchett house after her unfortunate ducking; Lyddy soon laid aside her own better frock, too.

Then they found their bundle of brooms and brushes, and set to work. There was a pump on the back porch and a well in the yard. During all these empty years the leather valve of the pump had rotted away; but Lucas brought them water from the well.

"I kin git the shoemaker in town to cut ye out a new leather," said the young farmer. "He's got a pattern. An' I can put it in for ye. The pump'll be a sight handier than the well for you two gals."

"Now, isn't he a nice boy?" demanded Lyddy of her sister. "And you called him a freak."

"Don't rub it in, Lyd," snapped 'Phemie. "But it is hard to have to accept a veritable gawk of a fellow like Lucas--for that's what he _is_!--as a sure-enough hero."

This was said aside, of course, and while Lucas was doing yeoman's work at the woodpile. He had brought in a huge backlog, placed it carefully, laid a forestick and the kindling, and soon blue and yellow flames were weaving through the well-built structure of the fire. There was a swinging crane for the kettle and a long bar with hooks upon it, from which various cooking pots could dangle. Built into the chimney, too, was a brick oven with a sheet-iron door. The girls thought all these old-fas.h.i.+oned arrangements delightful, whether they proved convenient, or not.

They swept and dusted the old kitchen thoroughly, and cleaned the cupboards and pantry-closet. Then they turned their attention to the half bedchamber, half sitting-room that opened directly out of the kitchen. In these two rooms they proposed to live at first--until their father could join them, at least.

There was an old-time high, four-post bed in this second room. It had been built long before some smart man had invented springs, and its frame was laced from side to side, and up and down, like the warp and woof of a rug, with a "bedrope" long since rotted and moth-eaten.

"My goodness me!" exclaimed 'Phemie, laughing. "That will never hold you and me, Lyd. We'll just have to stuff that old tick with hay and sleep on the floor."

But Lucas heard their discussion and again came to their help. Lyddy had bought a new clothesline when she purchased her food supplies at the city department store, and the clever Lucas quickly roped the old bedstead.

"That boy certainly is rising by leaps and bounds in my estimation,"

admitted 'Phemie, in a whisper, to her sister.

Then came the problem of the bed. Lyddy had saved their pillows from the wreck of the flat; but the mattresses had gone with the furniture to the second-hand man. There might be good feather beds in the farmhouse attic; Aunt Jane had said something about them, Lyddy believed. But there was no time to hunt for these now.

"Here is a tick," 'Phemie said again. "What'll we fill it with?"

"Give it to me," volunteered Lucas. "One of the stable lofts is half full of rye straw. We thrashed some rye on this place last year. It's jest as good beddin' for humans as it is for cattle, I declare."

"All right," sighed 'Phemie. "We'll bed down like the cows for a while. I don't see anything better to do."

But really, by sunset, they were nearly to rights and the prospect for a comfortable first night at Hillcrest was good.

Lucas's huge fire warmed both the kitchen and the bedroom, despite the fact that the evening promised to be chilly, with the wind mourning about the old house and rattling the shutters. The girls closed the blinds, made all cozy, and bade young Pritchett good-night.

Lyddy had paid him the promised dollar for transporting their goods, and another half-dollar for the work he had done about the house that afternoon.

"And I'll come up in the mornin' an' bring ye the milk an' eggs maw promised ye," said Lucas, as he drove away, "and I'll cut ye some more wood then."

There was already a great heap of sticks beside the hearth, and in the porch another windrow, sheltered from any possible storm.

"We're in luck to have such good neighbors," sighed Lyddy, as the farm wagon rattled away.

"My! but we're going to have good times here," declared 'Phemie, coming into the house after her and closing and locking the door.

"It's a long way off from everybody else," observed the older sister, in a doubtful tone. "But I don't believe we shall be disturbed."

"Nonsense!" cried 'Phemie. "Let's have supper. I'm starved to death."

She swung the blackened old tea-kettle over the blaze, and moved briskly about the room laying the cloth, while Lyddy got out crackers and cheese and opened a tin of meat before she brewed the comforting cup of tea that both girls wanted.

However, they _were_ alone--half a mile from the nearest habitation--and if nothing else, they could not help secretly comparing their loneliness with the tenement in the city from which they had so recently graduated.

CHAPTER VIII

THE WHISPER IN THE DARK

'Phemie was very bold--until something really scared her--and then she was quite likely to lose her head altogether. Lyddy was timid by nature, but an emergency forced her courage to high pressure.

They both, however, tried to ignore the fact that they were alone in the old house, far up on the mountainside, and a considerable distance from any neighbor.

That was why they chattered so all through supper--and afterward. Neither girl cared to let silence fall upon the room.

The singing of the kettle on the crane was a blessing. It made music that drove away "that lonesome feeling." And when it actually bubbled over and the drip of it fell hissing into the fire, 'Phemie laughed as though it were a great joke.

"Such a jolly thing as an open fire is, I declare," she said, sitting down at last in one of the low, splint-bottomed chairs, when the supper dishes were put away. "I don't blame Grandfather Phelps for refusing to allow stoves to be put up in his day."

"I fancy it would take a deal of wood to heat the old house in real cold weather," Lyddy said. "But it _is_ cheerful."

"Woo-oo! woo-oo-oo!" moaned the wind around the corner of the house. A ghostly hand rattled a shutter. Then a shrill whistle in the chimney startled them.

At such times the sisters talked all the faster--and louder. It was really quite remarkable how much they found to say to each other.