Motionless and mute they stared into each other's eyes.
At last the girl quavered, "We better--we better go and lock it." The
mother nodded. Hanging arm in arm they stole across the floor toward the
head of the stairs. A board of the floor creaked. They halted and
exchanged a look of dumb agony.
At last they reached the head of the stairs. From the kitchen came the
bass humming of the kettle and frequent sputterings and cracklings from
the fire. These sounds were sinister. The mother and the girl stood
incapable of movement. "There's somebody down there!" whispered the
elder woman.
Finally, the girl made a gesture of resolution. She twisted her arm from
her mother's hands and went two steps downward. She addressed the
kitchen: "Who's there?" Her tone was intended to be dauntless. It rang
so dramatically in the silence that a sudden new panic seized them as if
the suspected presence in the kitchen had cried out to them. But the
girl ventured again: "Is there anybody there?" No reply was made save by
the kettle and the fire.
With a stealthy tread the girl continued her journey. As she neared the
last step the fire crackled explosively and the girl screamed. But the
mystic presence had not swept around the corner to grab her, so she
dropped to a seat on the step and laughed. "It was--was only the--the
fire," she said, stammering hysterically.
Then she arose with sudden fortitude and cried: "Why, there isn't
anybody there! I know there isn't." She marched down into the kitchen.
In her face was dread, as if she half expected to confront something,
but the room was empty. She cried joyously: "There's nobody here! Come
on down, ma." She ran to the kitchen door and locked it.
The mother came down to the kitchen. "Oh, dear, what a fright I've had!
It's given me the sick headache. I know it has."
"Oh, ma," said the girl.
"I know it has--I know it. Oh, if your father was only here! He'd settle
those Yankees mighty quick--he'd settle 'em! Two poor helpless
women----"
"Why, ma, what makes you act so? The Yankees haven't----"
"Oh, they'll be back--they'll be back. Two poor helpless women! Your
father and your uncle Asa and Bill off galavanting around and fighting
when they ought to be protecting their home! That's the kind of men they
are. Didn't I say to your father just before he left----"
"Ma," said the girl, coming suddenly from the window, "the barn door is
open. I wonder if they took old Santo?"
"Oh, of course they have--of course----Mary, I don't see what we are
going to do--I don't see what we are going to do."