"I wonder where he is taking us," whispered Grace in Betty's ear.
"Maybe he's a murderer or something."

In spite of her discomfort, Betty giggled.

"Did you ever see a murderer with a bald head like that?" she asked.

It seemed to the girls as if the path must be at least a mile long,
but just as they were despairing of ever reaching the end of it, they
came out into a partially cleared space and through the trees caught a
glimpse of something that looked like a house.

Their new acquaintance, who up to this time had been bringing up the
rear, now took the lead and led them over tangled underbrush, stones
and foot-bruising rocks, to his strange little dwelling.

"It's a house, it's a house!" cried Grace thankfully, as they hurried
after the little man. "I guess somebody will have to wring me out when
we get inside. I'm soaked through!"

"Goodness, why don't you tell us something we don't know?" grumbled
Mollie, but nobody was listening to her. They had reached the house
and the man had swung the door open hospitably.

"Step inside, step inside, do," he urged with a nervous gesture that
reminded the girls once more of the proverbial hen. "You will find it
dry at least, and I will have a fire for you in a hurry. Just a moment
till I get some wood-- just a moment----"

And while he rambled on, suiting his words with quick nervous action,