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.