"It's positively uncanny," shuddered Peggy. "It's like Red Riding Hood and
the Three Little Bears."

"One would think that even a bear would open the door on such an occasion
as this," said her companion, redoubling his efforts to attract attention.
Finally he gave the door handle a twist. It yielded, and the door was
speedily found to be unlocked. The officer shoved it open and disclosed a
neat farm-house kitchen. In a newly blackened stove, which fairly shone,
was a blazing fire. An old clock ticked sturdily in one corner. The floor
was scrubbed as white as snow, and on a shelf above the shining stove was
an array of gleaming copper pans that gladdened Peggy's housewifely heart.

"What a dear of a place!" she exclaimed. "But where are the folks who own
it?"

"Haven't the least idea," said the officer gayly; "but that stove looks
inviting to me. Let's get over to it and get dried out a bit. Then we can
commence to investigate."

"But, really, you know, we've not the least right in here. Suppose they
mistake us for burglars, and shoot us?"

"Not much danger of that. They'd shoot me first, anyhow, because I'm the
most burglarious looking of the two. Queer, though, where they all can
be."

"It's worse than queer--it's weird. Good gracious!" exclaimed Peggy, as a
sudden thought struck her, "suppose there should be trapdoors?"