"Well, let's put them in service again," proposed Betty. "I don't like the dark."
"Neither do I—in here," spoke Mollie. "Please strike a match, Grace."
The interior of the old house was quiet now, as with fingers that would tremble in spite of her efforts to still them, Grace lighted a match, and applied the flickering flame to the wick of one of the lamps which Betty opened. Then, as the cheerful yellow glow shone around them, Amy cried:
"Oh, smell that sulphur!"
There was the unmistakable odor in the rather close air of the room.
"It's from the match," said Mollie.
"No, I didn't use a sulphur match," said Grace.
"It's the lightning," declared Cousin Jane. "I noticed that smell, too, when our barn was struck, and I felt as if pins and needles were sticking in me."
"Gracious! I hope that doesn't happen here!" exclaimed Betty, as she helped Grace light the other lantern. Then the girls looked at one another. From the faces they glanced to the table. Nothing there had been altered, nor had the room changed in appearance.
"Well, I'm glad it's over," said Betty with a sigh of relief. "I was certainly scared at first."
