Flora's room was just across the hall from the one where Grace and
Sylvia were to sleep. Instead of a small white bed like theirs there was
a big bed of dark mahogany with four tall, high posts. The bed was so
high that there was a cushioned step beside it. The portrait of a lady
hung over a beautiful inlaid desk, and Flora pointed to it with evident
pride.
"That's my great-grandmother; and her father built this house. My mother
says that she was Lady Caroline, and that she was so beautiful that
whenever she went to Charleston people would run after her coach just to
look at her," and Flora looked at her companions expectantly, quite
forgetting that she had told them the story before.
"Oh, Flora! Every time I come out here you tell me about your wonderful
great-grand-mother," said Grace, "and you used to tell me that her ghost
haunted this house."
"Well, it does," declared Flora.
Sylvia had never heard of Lady Caroline's ghost. "Do tell me about it,
Flora," she urged.
There was a wide cushioned seat with many pillows beneath the windows,
and here the girls established themselves very comfortably.
"Yes, tell Sylvia the story," said Grace, piling up several cushions
behind her back. "Of course it isn't true, but it's thrilling."
"It is true," persisted Flora. "My mother says that her own governess
saw Lady Caroline's ghost. And that she had on the very hat she has on
in the portrait, and the same blue dress and lace collar.
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