"Now don't you worry about us," was Winnie's reply. "I guess I can take care of things all right. There's nothing to be afraid of--and anyway I don't see that two women in a house makes it any safer than one." Winnie, though she would have been the last to admit it, had been slightly timid at first about the sleeping arrangements. She had never lived in the country in her life and she privately thought the farm a lonely place, especially at night when, to quote her own words, "there was nothing nearer than the moon." As a matter of fact Rainbow Hill was not an isolated place at all, there were telephone connections to the outside world and a private system of communication with the tenant house. No one ever locked the house doors in that section and gradually Winnie's unexpressed fears wore away. Mrs. Willis, in her wholesome nature, was seldom frightened and to her the country meant peace and seclusion. All the girls had been trained from babyhood to regard the dark as "kind to tired people" and each had been taught to go to bed alone as a matter of course. They had never been terrified by foolish stories and silly myths and so were not afraid. Rosemary could lock up a house as competently as the doctor and thought nothing of going downstairs after the lights were out for the night to see if a window catch had been fastened. When bed-time came the night following the morning of Mrs. Willis' departure, Winnie was too proud to ask Warren or Richard to spend the night in the house. It is quite probable that either or both might have offered to stay, but they had returned late from a trip to Bennington and, driving into the barn at nine o'clock, had decided to go to bed early. "Are you going to lock the doors?" asked Rosemary, turning on the piano bench in surprise as Winnie shut the front door with a bang and slid the heavy bolt and chain. "I am that," said Winnie with emphasis. "I'm responsible for the rented stuff in this house and I don't aim to have any of Mrs. Hammond's furniture being carried off." "Why Winnie, no one will take anything," remonstrated Rosemary. "Warren says doors are never locked in any of the farmhouses around here. There hasn't been a tramp seen this summer." "And I don't intend to have the record broken--not by me," said Winnie, shutting the living-room windows with a bang and turning the catches. "I'm going out in the kitchen now and bolt that door." Sarah and Shirley had been in bed for an hour and there was only Rosemary to accompany the determined Winnie on her rounds. They made a thorough job of the locking up--Winnie by preference, Rosemary by compulsion--and then snapped off the lights and went upstairs together. "I'll leave my door open to-night, Winnie," said Rosemary. "Then if you should want anything, you could call me." "It's going to rain," replied Winnie absently. "The wind is rising, too. Don't let the ceiling get soaked again."