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Betsy and Babs were the first to reach the top of the stairs. Barbara turned the knob and the door opened just a bit, but then closed again, and Betsy was sure that it was being held by someone on the other side.

“How silly!” she thought. “Of course no one is holding it.” Then she put her shoulder against the door and pushed with all her strength, Babs helping. The door swung open easily, but the girls were all sure that they heard soft hurrying footsteps.

“Of course it couldn’t be, since the place is so plainly unoccupied,” Margaret declared. “I believe that the sound we heard is the rush of snow. You remember, Micky said there would surely be a snowstorm tonight and I believe that it has begun.”

They found themselves not in an old-fashioned kitchen as they had expected, but in a long, wide dark hall which extended, after the fashion of Colonial houses, through the entire center with doors on either side.

It was bitterly cold and down a chimney, above a fireless hearth, the wind whistled and moaned.