When Doctor Hugh went back to the Eastshore house Sunday night, in order to be ready for an early Monday morning appointment, he took his mother with him. There were several things which their brief residence at Rainbow Hill had demonstrated would be immediately required, noticeably more frocks for Sarah. That small girl tore and wore out and soiled an amazing number of dresses within a day. Winnie, too, had a list of necessities and Mrs. Willis had proposed that she go in with Hugh and gather frocks and utensils¹; then Hugh would bring them back in the car and her, too.  
"You'll be alone only one night," Mrs. Willis said to Winnie. "And if you are the least bit nervous, I'm sure one of the boys will come up and sleep in the house."
 
"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 privately² 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 isolated³ place at all, there were telephone connections to the outside world and a private system of communication with the tenant⁴ house. No one ever locked the house doors in that section and gradually Winnie's unexpressed fears wore away.
 
Mrs. Willis, in her wholesome⁵ nature, was seldom frightened and to her the country meant peace and seclusion⁶. 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 decided⁷ 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," remonstrated⁸ Rosemary. "Warren says doors are never locked in any of the farmhouses⁹ 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 determined¹⁰ 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."
 
Rosemary kissed her good night—Winnie's arms had been the first to hold Rosemary when she was born—and went into her own pretty room.
 
She did not hurry over undressing and even attempted to read as she brushed her hair. Of course neither pleasure nor task went forward very smoothly¹², but Rosemary enjoyed the sensation of dawdling¹³. She was not sleepy and it was pleasant to play that she was a lady of leisure. Then, before she was ready for bed, she must needs try her hair a new way and turn on all the lights in the room to get the effect.
 
"It will be so exciting," said Rosemary, staring with naive¹⁴ satisfaction at the pink-cheeked girl in the white kimono who stared back at her from the glass, "it will be so exciting to go to dances and parties. If I ever get to high school, I'll be thankful, for then there is always something happening. I hope there's a dancing school that's some good in Eastshore this winter."
 
At last Rosemary was ready for bed. She pattered over and felt of the floor under the two screened windows—quite dry, so the rain, if there had been rain, had not beat in.
 
"But it isn't raining," said Rosemary to herself, snapping off the lights and trying to see out into the darkness. "When it rains we can hear it on the tin roof of the porch; it is only cloudy and windy."
 
Mindful of her promise to Winnie, she opened her door—though as a rule the Willis family slept with individual bedroom doors closed—and listened for a moment, peering into the shadowy hall. There was not a sound and no light shone under Winnie's door—it must be open and she was asleep.
 
"How the wind does blow!" said Rosemary, safe in bed, wondering if she ought to get up and pin the muslin curtains back for they fluttered madly.
 
Before she could act on this thought, she was asleep. How long she slept she did not know, but she woke to find Winnie standing¹⁵ beside the bed.
 
"Rosemary!" she whispered. "Rosemary! There's the most awful racket you ever heard!"
 
Rosemary sat up in bed and drew the blanket around her.
 
"What—what's the matter?" she stammered¹⁶.
 
"Hush—don't wake up Shirley and start her crying," warned Winnie who looked taller than ever in the scant¹⁷ gray dressing¹¹ gown she had pulled tightly about her. "Sarah wouldn't wake if the house caved in—there, do you hear that?"
 
Rosemary listened intently. She shook her head.
 
"I don't hear anything," she said.
 
"Then come out in the hall and you will," advised Winnie, stalking toward the door.
 
Rosemary followed sleepily. She didn't want to listen to noises and she couldn't help wishing that Winnie had been a little harder of hearing.
 
"There—hear that?" Winnie's tone was almost triumphant¹⁸.
 
Through the whole house sounded a wail¹⁹ that rose as they listened and mounted to a shriek²⁰. In spite of her desire to remain cool and calm, Rosemary shivered.
 
"It woke me up," whispered Winnie fearfully. "I never, in all my born days, heard anything like it."
 
"What—what makes it?" said Rosemary.
 
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," declared Winnie. "I'm not afraid of anything, once I know what it is; but when I don't know the cause, I can be scared as well as the next one."
 
Winnie was perfectly²¹ sincere in this statement. She might have added that no matter how badly frightened she was, she could not be kept from making her investigations²². Now she prepared to go downstairs by pressing the button that lighted both halls.
 
"Don't go down, Winnie," begged Rosemary. "I don't believe it's anything but the wind."
 
"We had a high wind one night when your mother was home and nothing made this kind of racket," was Winnie's retort. "You sit at the top of the stairs, Rosemary, and you can see me all the time and you won't feel alone; there's no use in you prowling around just because I do."
 
"Hark—it's raining!" Rosemary had heard the sound of drops on the tin roof of the porch "I'm coming down with you, Winnie—wouldn't it be nice if only Hugh were here!"
 
The wail sounded again, low and hesitating, then it began to rise. As Winnie and Rosemary reached the level of the first floor hall the peak of the shriek sounded in their ears.
 
"Oh, don't go out in the kitchen!" Rosemary's voice shook with nervousness. "Winnie, don't go fussing around; come back in my room and sleep with me. We can't hear anything there."
 
"I aim to find out what—" began Winnie, then stopped suddenly.
 
Someone was coming up the narrow flagged walk, someone who was whistling softly.
 
"Hello!" came a low-voiced hail. "Hello—don't be frightened—this is Warren and Rich. Anything the matter?"
 
Rosemary promptly²³ turned and fled and then, the second floor gained, turned and hung over the railing to watch Winnie unchain and unbolt and unlock the front door and then admit two dripping, but cheerful figures, in yellow oilskins.
 
"Raining and blowing great guns," said Warren's voice. "We got up to close one of the windows and saw your house lighted—thought maybe someone was sick."
 
"You're the best boys who ever breathed," the grateful Winnie informed them. "Nothing's the matter except I'm trying to find out what makes—that! Listen!"
 
"You've left the upstair doors open," said Richard promptly. "There's something about the way this house is constructed that does it. Whenever there's a wind of any account, all the second story doors have to be closed; it's the one drawback. I suppose Mrs. Hildreth didn't think to tell you."
 
"We left our doors open to-night, because we're lonely without Mrs. Willis," was Winnie's simple explanation. "Rosemary was down with me, but she left when she heard you—I daresay she's listening up in the hall now."
 
"Of course I am," said Rosemary. "Ask Warren and Richard to stay, Winnie; there is the guest room all ready."
 
"You go up and go to bed this minute," commanded Winnie, whose invitations, like the queen's, usually brooked²⁴ no refusal. "Now I know the wind makes that howl, I'm not the least bit nervous, but I'd rather have someone around to ask in case something else turns up."
 
Nothing more of a disturbing nature "turned up" that night and the household settled down and slept peacefully, secure in the knowledge that very real protection, in the persons of the two husky lads, was close at hand. Winnie summoned them at five o'clock the next morning—knowing that Mr. Hildreth would not easily forgive a delayed morning start—and actually had coffee and her famous waffles ready for them at that hour.
 
"Send for us any time," grinned Warren when he saw the table set.
 
"Any time you need aid, Winnie—or plan to serve waffles."