“They could hear the soft pat-pat of padded feet in the hall.”

Dinner was served in the large dining room. Friendly clusters of candles stood on the round mahogany table and made little pools of light on its bright surface. Mary waited on them.

“I wonder what’s the matter with Aunt Esmerelda to-night,” said Grandpa after the soup. “These potatoes aren’t done, and the roast is burned.”

“I think she was frightened at something in the cellar,” said Hortense.

“What’s that?” Grandpa questioned, and Hortense told him of the noise and the candle going out.

“A rat probably,” said Grandpa. “Weren’t you frightened?”

“A little,” Hortense replied truthfully, “but I think it was because Aunt Esmerelda was so afraid.”

Grandpa looked at her, smiling under his bushy eyebrows.

“Would you go down to the storeroom and get me an apple if I gave you something nice for your own?” he asked.

“Don’t, Keith,” said Grandma sharply. “You’ll frighten the child.”

“I don’t want her to be afraid in the dark,” said Grandpa. “This is a big house and much of it is dark.”

Hortense was silent, thinking.

“I’ll go,” she said.

“Good,” said Grandpa. “Bring me a plateful of northern spies.”

Hortense arose from the table and walked to the door. As she went out, she heard Grandmother say, “You’ll frighten the child” The rest she didn’t hear.

In the kitchen Hortense found Aunt Esmerelda seated in her chair, gazing gloomily at the kitchen range.

“May I have a candle, Aunt Esmerelda?” Hortense asked.

“What fo’ yo’ wants a candle?” Aunt Esmerelda demanded.

“I’m going to the storeroom to get Grandpa some apples,” said Hortense.

Aunt Esmerelda stared at her without speaking for some moments.

“All by yo’se’f’?” she demanded at last.

“All by myself,” said Hortense.

Aunt Esmerelda shook her head and muttered, but rising, found a candle and lighted it.

“Ef yo’ say yo’ prayahs, mebbe nothin’ll git yo’,” she said ominously.

It was black as a hat in the basement, and little shivers ran up and down Hortense’s spine, but she ran quickly to the storeroom and filled her plate with apples from the big barrel.

Starting back she heard a noise and stopped, her heart pounding and little pin pricks crinkling her scalp; then she hurried to the stairs, almost running. But she did not run up the stairs, for she didn’t wish to have Aunt Esmerelda think her afraid.

She was a glad little girl, nevertheless, when she was safe again in the light kitchen.

“Yo’ didn’ see nothin’?” demanded Aunt Esmerelda.

“I didn’t see anything,” said Hortense. “I heard something, but it was probably only a rat.” She spoke bravely, quite like Grandfather.

“’Twan’t no rat,” muttered Aunt Esmerelda gloomily, shaking her head. “It’s a ha’nt or a ghos’. Dey’s ha’nts and ghos’s all ’roun dis place.”

Hortense began to feel quite brave after she had arrived safely in the cheerful dining room. Grandfather looked at her, shrewdly smiling.

“Did you see or hear anything?” he asked.

“I heard a noise,” replied Hortense.

“And were you afraid?” he asked again.

Hortense looked into his bright, kind eyes.

“A little,” she confessed.

Grandfather took her on his knee.

“It isn’t being afraid that matters,” he said. “It’s doing what you set out to do whether afraid or not That’s what it is to be brave.”

“Really?” Hortense asked.

“Yes, really,” assured Grandfather. “It is not brave to be without fear, but to overcome it. Now we’ll go into the library, and I’ll tell you the promised story and give you something but what it is, I’ll not reveal until later.”

Grandmother returned to her chair and her knitting, with the white owl and the cat for company, and Grandfather and Hortense found a comfortable seat in Grandfather’s big chair. There was a cheerful fire on the hearth, and Grandfather’s study lamp cast a bright light upon his desk but the bronze Buddha remained in a shadow, and the rows of books along the walls were scarcely visible.

“When I was a young lad in Scotland,” said Grandfather when Hortense was seated on his knee with her head upon his shoulder, “I had a close friend of my own age whose name was Dugald Dugald Stewart. We grew up together, and when we became young men, we set off together to see the world and to make our fortunes.

“We visited many strange and wonderful places and had many adventures, some of which I shall tell you about, perhaps. Our fortunes were up and down, usually down. We sought for pearls in the Indian Ocean and the South Seas, and for gold in Australia. We traded with the natives here, there, and everywhere, but our fortunes were still to be made, and it seemed we might spend our lives without being much better off than we were then.

“At last Dugald and I parted company. I was to go on a trading journey into the interior of Bornéo, which, as you know, is a very large island in the East Indies. Dugald set out upon a wild expedition into Burma. We had heard a story of a rare and valuable jewel said to be in a remote and little-known part of the interior. I had tried to dissuade him from so dangerous and uncertain an attempt, but he was brave and even reckless. Besides, my own adventure was dangerous also.

“Before we parted, Dugald gave me a little charm which he always wore and in which he had great faith. It was supposed to bring luck and to shield from danger. Perhaps it did, for I was very lucky thereafter and had many wonderful escapes from death. It was not so with Dugald. I never saw him again, and I wish now that he had kept the charm. Perhaps it would have protected him.”

Grandfather paused and glanced at the bronze figure of Buddha beyond the circle of the lamplight.

“This image was his last gift to me, brought by his trusted servant with the message that in it lay fortune and that I should always keep it by me and I have always done so.”

“Did he find the valuable jewel?” Hortense asked breathlessly.

“That I never knew,” said Grandfather. “The servant told me a wild story of his master’s finding it, but when my friend died suddenly, the servant could find no trace of it. I think he was honest, too.

“But the jewel isn’t the point of my story rather, the charm.”

Grandfather opened a drawer of his desk and drew forth a tiny box of sweet smelling wood sandalwood, Grandfather called it. He bade Hortense lift the cover. Inside the box lay a tiny ivory monkey attached to a tarnished silver chain.

“It can be worn around the neck,” said Grandfather, drawing it forth. Placing the chain about Hortense’s neck, he fastened the ends in a secure little clasp.

“Now you’ll have good luck and nothing can harm you,” he said smiling at her.

“Is it mine?” Hortense asked.

“You may wear it while you are here,” said Grandfather, “and sometime it will be yours for keeps.”

“And I won’t be afraid of noises or anything,” said Hortense.

“Not a thing can hurt you,” said Grandfather. “But you must take good care not to lose it. You had better wear it under your dress, perhaps, and never take it off. Now, it is long past bedtime.”

Hortense thanked her Grandfather and went into the next room to bid her Grandmother good night. Lowboy, fat and smiling, grinned at her. The cat on the hearthrug turned his head and regarded her with a long stare from his yellow eyes. Hortense felt uncomfortable but stared back, and at last the cat turned away and pretended to wash himself. Now and then he stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye.

“He doesn’t like me any more than I like him,” thought Hortense as she kissed her Grandmother good night.

“Your candle is on the table in the hall, dear,” said Grandmother. “Would you like Mary to put you to bed?”

But Hortense felt very brave after her exploit in the storeroom; besides which, her monkey charm gave her a sense of security. She lighted her candle and set off up the dark winding stairs all alone.

When she reached the second floor, she stopped and looked up the stairs leading to the third floor. She could see only a little way and she longed to know what it was like up there, but she felt a little timid at the thought of all those empty rooms filled with cold, silent furniture. What was it Grandfather had said? Always to face the thing one feared.

Hortense marched bravely up the stairs to the hall above. It was like that on the second floor. Hortense opened one of the many closed doors. The light from her candle fell upon chairs and dressers sheeted like ghosts, cold and silent. Hortense shut the door quickly and walked past all the others without opening them.

At the end of the hall was a door somewhat smaller than the others. It seemed mysterious, and after hesitating for a moment, Hortense turned the knob slowly.

A flight of steps rose steeply from the threshold. Hortense peered up. Above, it was faintly light These must be the attic stairs, Hortense thought, and the attic was not completely dark because the cupola lighted it faintly. When the moon was bright, it would be possible to see quite plainly. Perhaps on such a night or, better, in the daytime, Hortense would explore the attic, but she felt she had done enough for one night and closed the door gently.

As she turned to walk back down the hall, she stopped suddenly. Far away in the dark gleamed two yellow spots. Chills ran up her back, and then she told herself, “It’s the cat.”

Slowly she walked towards the bright spots which never moved as she neared them. Then the rays from her candle fell upon the cat crouched in the middle of the hall.

“What are you doing, spying on me like this!” said Hortense severely.

The cat said not a word. He merely stared at her with his bright yellow eyes for a moment; then he yawned, rose slowly and stretched himself, and turning, walked with dignity down the stairs. Hortense followed, but not once did the cat look back at her.

On the second floor Hortense stopped and watched the cat. When he was lost to sight in the hall below, she went to her room and carefully closed the door behind her.

She placed her candle on a stand beside the bed and proceeded to look around. The room seemed much bigger now than in the afternoon. The ceiling seemed lost in shadow far above, and the corners were all dark. There were three stiff chairs, a table, a dresser, and a highboy.

The highboy was tall and slim. The light from the candle made him seem very melancholy and sad, ridiculously so, Hortense thought.

“You are funny looking,” said Hortense aloud.

The highboy, she thought, regarded her reproachfully.

“Why don’t you speak?” said Hortense, “instead of looking so woebegone.”

“You’ll only make fun of me,” said Highboy in a tearful voice.

“No, I won’t,” Hortense replied, “not if you’ll try to look and talk a bit cheerful.”

“That’s easy to say,” said Highboy, “but you don’t have to stay in this room day and night with nobody to talk to. It gets on my nerves.”

“I’ll talk to you,” said Hortense, “but you should cultivate a cheerful disposition. I like bright people.”

“Then you’d better talk with my brother, Lowboy,” said Highboy tartly. “He’s always cheery. Nothing depresses me so much as people who are always cheerful. Tiresome, I say.”

“You could learn much from your brother,” said Hortense severely. “Why don’t you go down and see him now? I’m sure it would do you good.”

Highboy shivered.

“It’s so cold and dark in the hall,” he said. “I almost never dare go except on bright warm nights in summer. Of course I daren’t go in the daytime.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Hortense. “However, I’ll go with you, you are afraid. Grandmother has gone to bed, I think, and there will be a little fire left on the hearth.”

Highboy brightened a little.

“Do you think we dare?” he said, “Suppose we should meet the cat.”

“I’m not afraid of the cat,” Hortense declared.

“And then there’s the other one,” said Highboy. “He’s worse still. He’s round, and bright, and hard, with sharp points all over a terrible fellow.”

“Is he the ‘ha’nt,’ as Aunt Esmerelda calls it?” Hortense asked.

Highboy knew nothing about that. He was only sure that the cat, Jeremiah, and his prickly companion were up to all manner of tricks and were best let alone.

Hortense, on second thought, did not wholly relish the idea of going downstairs with Highboy, but she had made the offer and so she said, “Come on, we’ll go now, for I mustn’t stay up too late.”

Highboy stepped out of his wooden house. He looked so funny in his knee trousers and broad white collar with its big bow tie, exactly like a great overgrown boy, that Hortense laughed out loud.

“If you laugh at me, I won’t go,” said Highboy in a mournful voice.

“I beg your pardon,” said Hortense. “It was rude of me. But you should wear long trousers you know! You are too big to wear such things as these.”

“I know it,” said Highboy, “but I can’t change. I haven’t any others. Besides, I’ve always worn them and I’d not feel the same in anything different. One gets awfully attached to old clothes, don’t you think?”

“Boys do, I’ve observed,” said Hortense. “Come on.”

She took Highboy by the hand, and they walked cautiously down the hall. At the top of the stairs Highboy paused and leaned over the bannisters. Somebody was walking to and fro in the hall beneath with soft regular footfalls like the ticking of a clock.

“It’s only Grandfather’s Clock,” said Highboy in a relieved whisper. “He always walks that way at night.”

Highboy and Hortense descended the stairs into the hall. Grandfather’s Clock was walking up and down with regular footfalls, tick-tock, tick-tock. He smiled benevolently at them as they passed but did not pause in his walk or speak to them.

“A dull life,” said Highboy. “Duller than mine. You see, he has nothing to be afraid of. To be afraid of something gives you a thrill, you know. But everybody’s afraid of time, and Grandfather’s Clock has all the time there is.”

When Hortense and Highboy entered, only the embers of the fire were left on the hearth in Grandmother’s room. White Owl was wide-awake with staring eyes, but the Firedogs were evidently napping and Lowboy was sound asleep.

“Hello,” said Highboy, and at once Lowboy’s eyes opened wide and both the Firedogs growled.

“Come out and talk,” said Highboy.

Lowboy obeyed at once. He was short and fat not half so tall as his brother, but twice as big around and he was dressed exactly like Highboy except that his necktie was red whereas Highboy’s tie was green.

“I knew she’d bring you,” said Lowboy, pointing to Hortense. “I could see she was friendly.”

“She may only be a meddlesome child,” said White Owl. “It never does to judge from first impressions.”

“I could see that the cat didn’t like her,” said one of the firedogs, shaking himself and coming out upon the hearthrug, “and anybody that the cat dislikes is a friend of mine.”

“Just so,” said the other firedog.

They were just alike.

“I know I can never tell you apart,” said Hortense. “What are your names?”

“Mine’s Coal and his is Ember,” said the first firedog, “and you can always tell us in this way: If you call me Ember and I don’t answer, then you’ll know I’m Coal. It’s very easy! But if you’ll look close, you’ll see that my tail curls a little tighter than his, and I’m generally thought to be handsomer.”

“You’re not,” said Ember. “Say that again and I’ll fight you.”

“Oh, please don’t fight!” cried Hortense. “However can you chase the cat if you do?”

“That’s the first sensible remark any one has made,” said White Owl.

“I apologize,” said Coal to Ember. “Let’s not fight unless there’s nothing else to do.”

“Fighting is an occupation for those who don’t think,” said White Owl.

Lowboy nudged his brother.

“Talks just like a copy book, doesn’t he?” said Lowboy.

“He has to keep up his reputation,” said Highboy.

“Ssh,” said White Owl, “I hear the cat.”

Everybody became as still as a mouse. Coal and Ember crouched, ready to spring, and Highboy and Lowboy, rather frightened, took hold of hands and pressed against the wall. They could hear the soft pat-pat of padded feet in the hall.

Two yellow eyes shone in the doorway, and the Cat entered. He stood in the middle of the room with his tail waving to and fro and looked suspiciously from side to side.

Both Firedogs growled; the Cat spit; White Owl cried, “Who-oo-o,” and flew down from his perch. In a twinkling Hortense was running down the hall, hand in hand with Highboy and Lowboy, behind Coal and Ember.

Up the stairs ran the Cat with the Firedogs after him, up the stairs to the third floor and through the door to the attic.

“I’m sure I shut that door,” said Hortense. “Who could have opened it?”

She had no time to think further. Up and up she went to the attic and there stopped, panting. The Firedogs were running round and round, growling. White Owl turned his great yellow eyes in all directions.

“He isn’t here,” said Owl. “I can see in every corner, and he isn’t here. But where could he have gone?”

Nobody had an answer to make, and every one felt that there was something mysterious in the Cat’s sudden disappearance.

“I think I’d better go back,” said Highboy nervously. “It’s time I was asleep. Suppose we should be found way up here!”

By common consent they all moved downstairs together, going very softly. Hortense paused at Grandmother’s door. She was speaking.

“I’m sure I heard something,” said Grandmother.

“It was only the wind,” Grandfather’s voice replied.

Hortense and Highboy crept quietly to their room while the others disappeared below.

“It’s good to be back safe,” Highboy whispered, “but I’m so nervous I know I shan’t sleep.”

Hortense, however, undressed quickly and climbed into bed. Soon she was fast asleep, and the next thing she knew the sun was shining into her windows.

“It must have been a dream,” said Hortense to herself, remembering all that had happened the evening before.

“Was it a dream, Highboy?” she said suddenly, looking at him.

“You may have dreamed,” said Highboy irritably, “but I was so nervous I didn’t sleep a wink.”

Saying no more, Hortense dressed rapidly and went down to breakfast.