SOUNDS IN THE LOFT
Nann half believed that the white object she had seen at the loft window
was but a flashing ray of the setting sun reflected from the opposite
window which faced the west, and yet, curiosity prompted her to go to the
loft and be sure that it was unoccupied. This resolution was strengthened
when, upon reaching the cabin, she heard Miss Moore’s querulous voice
complaining that the outer stairs leading to the room above had been
creaking constantly, and she requested the girls not to go up and down so
often while she was trying to sleep. Nann, knowing that they had not been
to their bedroom since morning, was a little puzzled by this, and so,
bidding Dories prepare tea for her great-aunt, she went out on the back
porch and started to ascend the stairway. When the top was reached, she
discovered that the door was locked. For a puzzled moment the girl
believed that the key was on the inside, but, stopping, she found that
she could see through the keyhole. Although it was dusk, the window in
the loft room, which opened toward the sea, was opposite and showed a
faint reflection of the setting sun. Nann was relieved but still puzzled,
when a whispered voice at the foot of the stairway called to her.
Turning, Nann saw Dories standing in the dim light below, holding up the
key. “Did you forget that we brought it down?” she inquired.
As Nann hurriedly descended, she noticed that the stairs did not creak,
nor indeed could they, for each step was one solid board firmly wedged in
grooves at the sides.
“I believe that we are all of us allowing our imaginations to run away
with us, Miss Moore included,” Nann said as she returned to the kitchen.
Then added, “Instead of making our bed now, I will clean the glass lamps
and fill them with the oil that Gibralter brought while it is still
twilighty.”
This she did, setting briskly to work and humming a gay little tune.
It never would do for Nann Sibbett, the fearless, to allow her
imagination to run riot.
Before the lamps were ready to be lighted, the fog, which stole in every
night from the sea, had settled about the cabin and the fog horn out
beyond the rocky point had started its constantly recurring, long
drawn-out wail.
“Goodness!” Dories said, shudderingly, “listen to that!”
“I’m listening!” Nann replied briskly. “I rather like it. It’s so sort of
appropriate. You know, at the movies, when the Indians come on, the weird
Indian music always begins. Now, that’s the way with the fog.”
She paused to scratch a match, applied the flame to the oil-saturated
wick of a small glass lamp and stood back admiringly. “There, friend o’
mine,” she exclaimed, “isn’t that cheerful?”
Dories, instead of looking at the circle of light about the lamp, looked
at the wavering shadows in the corners, then at the heavy gray fog which
hung like curtains at the windows. She huddled closer to the stove. “If
this place spells cheerfulness to you,” she remarked, “I’d like to know
what would be dismal.”
Nann whirled about and faced her friend and for a moment she was serious.
“I’m going to preach,” she threatened, “so be prepared. I haven’t the
least bit of use in this world for people who are mercurial. What right
have we to mope about and create a dismal atmosphere in our homes, just
because we can’t see the sunshine. We know positively that it is shining
somewhere, and we also know that the clouds never last long. I call it
superlative selfishness to be variable in disposition. Pray, why should
we impose our doleful moods on our friends?”
Then, noting the downcast expression of her friend, Nann put her arms
about her as she said penitently, “Forgive me, dear, if I hurt your
feelings. Of course it is dismal here and we could be just miserable if
we wanted to be, but isn’t it far better to think of it all as an
adventure, a merry lark? We know perfectly well that there is no such
thing as a ghost, but the setting for one is so perfect we just can’t
resist the temptation to pretend that——”
Nann said no more for something had suddenly banged in the loft room over
their heads.
Dories sat up with a start, but Nann laughed gleefully. “You see, even
the ghost knows his cue,” she declared. “He came into the story just at
the right moment. He can’t scare me, however,” Nann continued, “for I
know exactly what made the bang. When I was upstairs I noticed that the
blind to the front window had come unfastened, and now that the night
wind is rising, the two conspired to make us think a ghost had invaded
our chamber.” Then, having placed a lighted lamp on the kitchen table and
another on a shelf near the stove, the optimistic girl whirled and with
arms akimbo she exclaimed, “Mistress Dori, what will we have for supper?
You forage in the supply cupboard and bring forth your choice. I vote for
hot chocolate!”
“How would asparagus tips do on toast?” This doubtfully from the girl
peering into a closet where stood row after row of bags and cans.
“Great!” was the merry reply. “And we’ll have canned raspberries and
wafers for desert.”
It was seven when the meal was finished and nearly eight when the kitchen
was tidied. Nann noticed that Dories seemed intentionally slow and that
every now and then she seemed to be listening for sounds from above.
Ignoring it, however, Nann put out the light in one lamp and, taking the
other, she exclaimed, “The earlier we go to bed, the earlier we can get
up, and I’m heaps more interested in being awake by day than by night,
aren’t you, Dori? Are you all ready?”
Dories nodded, preparing to follow her friend out into the fog that hung
like a damp, dense mantle on the back porch. But, as soon as the door was
opened, a cold, penetrating wind blew out the flame. “How stupid of me!”
Nann exclaimed, backing into the kitchen and closing the door. “I should
have lighted the lantern. Now stand still where you are, Dori, and I’ll
grope around and find where I left it after I filled it. Didn’t you think
I hung it on the nail in the corner? Well, if I did, it isn’t there. Get
the matches, dear, will you, and strike one so that I can see.”
But that did not prove to be necessary, as a sudden flaming-up of the
dying fire in the stove revealed the lantern standing on the floor near
the oil can. Nann pounced on it, found a match before the glow was gone,
and then, when the lantern sent forth its rather faint illumination, they
again ventured out into the fog.
All the way up the back stairway Dories expected to hear a bang in the
room overhead, but there was no sound. She peered over Nann’s shoulder
when the door was opened and the faint light penetrated the darkness.
“See, I was right!” Nann whispered triumphantly. “The blind blew shut and
the hook caught it. That’s why we didn’t hear it again.”
“Let’s leave it shut,” Dories suggested, “then we won’t be able to see
the lantern out on the point of rocks if it moves about at midnight.”
Nann, realizing that her companion really was excitedly fearful, thought
best to comply with her request, and, as there was plenty of air entering
the loft room through innumerable cracks, she knew they would not
smother.
Too, Dories wanted the lantern left burning, but as soon as Nann was sure
that her companion was asleep, she stealthily rose and blew out the
flickering flame.