professor's botanical specimens had been swept clean and their contents
also were scattered about the floor.

The bench upon which the girls had sat and partaken of the queer little
man's hospitality was overturned and the one chair in the room was upside
down on top of it. The whole room looked as though a cyclone--or a maniac
--had been at work.

The girls stared for a minute and then drew closer together as if seeking
protection from some unseen menace. They had some vague conception of what
had taken place here in this lonely little cottage. The elderly and
already nervous professor, reading the tragedy of his sons' death, all
alone perhaps, with no one to comfort or restrain him, had lost his mind,
temporarily at least, and had found an outlet in ruthlessly destroying
everything which came within reach of his hand.

And if this were so, might he not even now be hiding about somewhere,
watching them, perhaps?

This thought seemed to strike the girls at the same time, for after
peering for a second about the room, they turned and made a concerted dash
for the door.

Once outside the room, in the reassuring sunshine, they turned and looked
at each other sheepishly. Then Betty wheeled about and started for the
door again.

"Betty, you are never going back into that place again?" cried Amy wildly,
holding to her skirt. "I won't let you! Do you hear me? Come back here!"