Regretfully Thurley produced the bottle. “Don’t drink until you see things,” she begged. “Makes me shiver when you talk down low—there—that’s enough for now.... I guess if the gang met on missionary day, I’d make ’em all sit down in front of me and I’d sing to ’em—something awful different from gang stuff or missionary hymns, and then neither could be cross.” “I guess,” her father hiccoughed, “you’ll—hic—always be a good fellow.” CHAPTER IV It was not until Thurley allied herself with the gang at Wood’s Hollow that she came into possession of the Corners’ great mystery—Abigail Clergy who lived in solitary grandeur in the red brick mansion overlooking the lake. After Thurley had proved herself as great a success as a good fellow to the gang as she had at convincing Philena of her possibilities as a missionary, and had played hi-spy half the afternoon, she wandered by chance towards the first of the deserted summer houses in lieu of a new hiding place and became fascinated by these silent buildings. She began exploring one after the other, forgetful of the faint “Hul-l-o-o—Thur-lee” which the gang sent in her direction. Boarded-up windows did not yield to her strong fingers nor tottering verandas offer a cordial invitation to rest. There was a chill in the October air, and Thurley gladly scampered up and down one pair of steps after another, peering into one dark room and then another, wandering through weed-choked gardens and pausing under apple trees to make up stories to suit each house. In her imaginative way she peopled the places with golden-haired ladies and blue-eyed babies, handsome gentlemen driving smart horses, and then every one sitting down to eat tons of good things served by colored waiters. In her motley travels through the country Thurley had obtained glimpses of such elegance, if not actually experiencing it. The gang was forgotten, so was Philena, and the fact that she had promised to play missionary at five o’clock. She forgot, as well, that her father was out of “comfort,” and would complain all night unless he was supplied, and that she had been worrying all morning as to what they should do when snow carpeted the meadow and the box-car wagon proved inefficient against wind and frost! Thurley was living in an enchanted land all her own—these houses were hers! One by one she made the imaginary tenants leave and go elsewhere, while she became an imprisoned princess doomed to spend a year in each house before she could be free of the ten-headed dragon! She ran along the shore in delight as she contemplated her prisons. Each day she would come and camp on the outside of the house in which she was imprisoned, playing princess in spangled crimson and lace and pretending the ten-headed dragon lived in a cave in the bottom of the lake and could poke one of his heads up at unexpected moments to see if his prisoner was behaving as he desired!