he corner of the room furthest from the windows and was shut
tight. A closet, probably, and all the closets she had inspected so
far had contained nothing but rubbish. However, Thankful was not in the
habit of doing things by halves, so, the feebly sputtering lantern held
in her left hand, she opened the door with the other and looked in. Then
she uttered an exclamation of joy.

It was not a closet behind that door, but another room. A small room
with but one little window, low down below the slope of the ceiling.
But this room was to some extent furnished. There was a bed in it, and a
rocking chair, and one or two pictures hanging crookedly upon the wall.
Also, and this was the really important thing, upon that bed was a
patchwork comforter.

Thankful made a dash for that comforter. She set the lantern down upon
the floor and snatched the gayly colored thing from the bed. And, as she
did so, she heard a groan.

There are always noises in an empty house, especially an old house.
Creaks and cracks and rustlings mysterious and unexplainable. When the
wind blows these noises are reenforced by a hundred others. In this
particular house on this particular night there were noises enough,
goodness knows. Howls and rattles and moans and shrieks. Every shutter
and every shingle seemed to be loose and complaining of the fact. As for
groans--old hinges groan when the wind blows and so do rickety gutters
and water pipes. But this groan, or so it seemed to Mrs. 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