“I DON’T like it! Joan, I really am worried. I don’t like it one bit.” Jen pushed back her yellow plaits and gazed at Joan earnestly. worried. I don’t like it one bit.” Jen pushed back her yellow plaits and gazed at Joan earnestly.

Joan, three years her senior, laughed. “But why, Jen? What do you think will happen to me?”

“I haven’t an idea, but you oughtn’t to be quite alone in the Abbey.”

“I was quite alone last night, and the night before, and nobody ran away with me.” Then Joan’s tone changed, for she saw Jen was really troubled. “Jen dear, I shall be quite all right. Why are you worrying?”

“You had Mrs. Watson the other nights; you weren’t quite alone.”

“And what use would Ann Watson be, if anything happened? She goes to bed in her own rooms and she never hears a sound.”

“She’d be somebody to speak to, if anything went wrong. You could always fetch her.”

“What could go wrong? No one can get into the Abbey. And I don’t want anybody to speak to.”

“You might see something queer.”

There aren’t any queer things in my Abbey! Run along to bed and don’t think about me any more. It’s only for one night; Ann Watson will be back by to-morrow. You’ll see me safe and sound in the morning.”

Jen went to bed obediently, but she still looked unhappy. Her room-mates, Della and Jacqueline, were awaiting her, and Jack demanded, “What’s the matter? You look upset.”

“I feel it,” Jen said heavily. “The caretaker in the Abbey has gone to the village, to nurse somebody; her mother-in-law I think. And Joan’s going to sleep in the ruins all alone, it isn’t right.”

“If her mother and the Head think it’s all right, you needn’t worry,” Della remarked. “What do you think will happen to Joan?”

“Ghosts?” Jack asked. “It’s the right place for ghosts.”

“Ass! Joan doesn’t believe in them. I don’t know what I think, but I’m sure Joan ought to have somebody to speak to in the night,” Jen wailed.

“You’d like it to be you. You want to keep her company,” Jack said shrewdly.

“Well, I do, but I know I can’t. But if Mrs. Watson isn’t there, somebody ought to be with Joan. Joy could go.”

Miss Macey’s school was spending the term at the Hall, the big house belonging to Joy Shirley, while the drains of the school in Wycombe were put right. Joy and Joan were cousins, sixteen years old, and Joan had just been crowned May Queen by the school. Jen, a boarder from Yorkshire, had seen the ceremony on her first day at school, and had given her heart and her devoted admiration to Joan, for all time.

The house was full of girls, and when one more had begged to be allowed to come, Joan had insisted on sleeping in her little bedroom in the Abbey ruins, which were in the grounds of the Hall, to leave her place in the house for Janice. No one, as she had reminded Jen, could get into the Abbey, and the caretaker slept in her own rooms within the walls. Mrs. Shirley and Miss Macey had agreed she would be safe, and Joan, who loved the Abbey and owned it—”My Abbey,” as she had said—was revelling in this return to her old home, for she had lived there with her mother and Joy for two years.

But the caretaker, Ann Watson, had been summoned to the village and Joan would be completely alone in the ruins. The thought delighted her; but Jen was definitely unhappy at the prospect.

While Joan slept peacefully in her little room, Jen tossed and turned and thought of ghosts of monks and ladies— of burglars—of intruders of any kind. And there was no way that Joan could get help.

She slept uneasily, then woke with a start, all her fears surging in on her in her half-awake state.

“It’s not right! Joan may be wanting somebody. I’m going to see. If everything’s quiet, I’ll come back without waking her. But somebody ought to see if she’s safe!”

Jack and Della were sleeping heavily. It was one o’clock in the morning.

By moonlight Jen picked up a few garments and her morning blouse and tunic, and, torch in hand, crept from the room. She closed the door without a sound and slipped along the corridor and down the great staircase, and crossed the hall to the back passage, where rows of pegs had been placed for the girls’ outdoor clothes. There was no sound in the house; everyone slept as quietly as Jack and Della.

There was moonlight here. Jen switched off her torch and dressed hurriedly; she found her coat and outdoor shoes, and crept to the garden door, which opened easily. She had spent a week at the Hall before the arrival of the rest of the school, and she knew the secrets of the house almost as well as Joy.

A dreadful thought struck her. “Joan’s key isn’t hanging on its peg. What if she’s locked herself in? I won’t be able to get through the gate. Well, I could stand and yell, but that would disturb her.”

Feeling very anxious, she crept out of the house and round the moonlit lawn, keeping in the shadow of trees and bushes. The shrubbery path was very dark and she had to use her torch. But the ancient gate was not locked; Jen drew a breath of relief as she closed it behind her and stood in the tiny Abbot’s garden below the high refectory windows.

“Perhaps Joan thought she’d better be able to rush home without having to unlock doors and gates, just in case anything went wrong! I wonder if she’ll be wild with me? But if it’s all quiet I shan’t wake her. I suppose I’ll have to tell her in the morning.”

She went down the stone passage under the big refectory and stood looking at the moonlit square of green which was the heart of the Abbey.

Then she gave a stifled scream. Two small dark objects, almost shadows, had rushed from the shelter of the cloisters and disappeared into the chapter-house. Jen flung herself across the garth to the door of Joan’s little room and hammered on it wildly.

“Joan! Joan! There is somebody! Oh, Joan, come and see! Ghosts or robbers— two of them—I saw them! Joan, come and help!”

Joan had been sound asleep. She sat up, badly startled, and stared at her locked door.

But Jen’s voice could not be mistaken. Joan pulled her blue gown round her, found her slippers, and unlocked the door. “Jen, what does this mean? What are you doing here? And why are you making that fearful row?”

Half sobbing with excitement, Jen told her story. “I was looking at the garth and something ran across—something small—two things! They went into the chapter-house. Oh, Joan, let’s go and see!”

Joan looked closely at her. “Is it a nightmare? Why aren’t you in bed?”

“It may have started with a nightmare. I woke, and I was frightened about you, and I came to see if you were all right. If everything was quiet, I was going back to bed without waking you. I stood in the tresaunt and looked at the garth, and I saw them! Oh, Joan, what do you think they were? Is the Abbey haunted, after all? I don’t believe in ghosts; I don’t! But I saw something run across the garth and into the chapter-house. I did!”

“Not the cats?” Joan asked the obvious question; the cats slept in the Abbey and for once they had not been on her bed. “Was it Timmy chasing the Curate?”

“No, oh no! Not cats! Bigger than that; much bigger. More like people. Joan, I’m a little bit frightened.”

“Come in here.” Joan drew her into the room and closed the door. “If you saw people, I’d prefer to dress before I go to look for them. No, the Abbey isn’t haunted, except by you, and you ought not to be here.”

“But if there’s somebody running about the garth, you might have been murdered in your bed,” Jen protested indignantly.

“The door was locked. No one could possibly get near me,” Joan retorted, dressing at express speed.

In the house, Janice Macdonald, the Australian girl to whom Joan had given her room, woke and crept to the window, to look at the lawn; the moonlight, streaming in, had roused her and she knew the garden must look beautiful. She gazed at the silvery trees and the shining grass. Then she stiffened into sudden attention.

A small figure had slipped out of the shadows, darted across a patch of light, and disappeared into the blackness of the Abbey path.

“Jen!” Janice murmured. “I’d know those plaits anywhere. She’s gone to Joan; they’re having a secret picnic. What fun! But I’m very much surprised at Joan!”

She was not far from her schooldays in Sydney, and the thought of a midnight feast was irresistible. She hurried into her clothes and her big coat and took up her torch. “I shall tell Joy. We can’t leave her out, if Joan and Jen and I are all in it. I need her, anyway. I don’t know how to get out without making a row. I bet she knows!”

She closed her door silently, and slipped into Joy’s room, and closed this door also. “Perhaps Joy has gone already. No, she’s here. They’re keeping the feast all to themselves. How mean!”

She woke Joy gently. “Joy, listen! Don’t yell! Are you awake enough to understand?”

Joy stared at her. “Jandy Mac! Is the house on fire?” She sat up hurriedly, her loosened dark red hair streaming round her.

“No, it’s all right. Don’t wake anybody! Joy, Jen has gone to the Abbey. I saw her cross the lawn. Do you suppose she and Joan are having a picnic on the garth?”

“A midnight feast!” Joy leapt to the same conclusion. “And they’ve left us out! The blighters! We’ll catch them at it and get our share!” She was hurrying into her clothes, and hastily fixing her hair.

“That’s what I thought. Can you get out quietly? Jen must have gone out somehow.”

“Garden door,” Joy said briefly. Jen knows. I keep it well oiled, in case I want to go in the garden very early. I often do.”

She led Janice to the small door and let her out without a sound. “Keep in the shadows, in case somebody looks out of a window.”

“That’s what Jen did,” Janice observed. “But there’s one patch of moonlight we can’t avoid. I saw her skip across and into the shrubbery path.”

“She had no right to be there alone at night,” Joy said severely. “I wonder Joan allowed it.”

“I’m surprised too,” Janice admitted. “It doesn’t seem like Joan. She might at least have come to meet Jen.”

“In this pitch-black path. Yes, I shall tell her so.”

“Jen was talking about the Abbey being haunted. I heard her, at supper-time. It’s going to be haunted to-night —by girls,” Janice laughed. They reached the garth just as Joan and Jen came from the little room, which had once been Joy’s bedroom. Both carried torches, though at the moment these were not needed.

“Gosh!” shrieked Jen. “Joy and Jandy Mac!”

“Caught you in the act!” Joy shouted, racing across the grass. “You are mean things, leaving us out of the fun!”

“Where are you going to have the feast? In the refectory?” Janice asked.

“Feast?” Joan asked, dazed. “What are you talking about? Why are you here, Joy and Jandy?”

“Talking! Shrieking, I call it!” Jen stormed. “They’ll have scared our ghosts. We were being so quiet!”

“Ghosts?” Joy demanded. “Don’t be an idiot! There aren’t any ghosts!”

“Except you and Jandy Mac!” Jen retorted.

Joan spoke with authority. “Come in here, you two. Now tell us—what are you doing here?”

“I like that!” Joy cried. “We came to see what you two were up to. We aren’t going to be left out!”

Janice spoke quickly. “I saw Jen cross the lawn and I told Joy. We thought you were having a midnight feast, so we came to join in.”

Joan’s eyes met Jen’s, and they both gave a shout of laughter.

“Feast!” Jen giggled. “And I saw two ghosts on the garth!”

“Us, I suppose you mean!” Joy mocked.

“No, not you. Quite five minutes before you came. We were going to look for them. And there isn’t any midnight feast. What a blow for you! You’ll have to go back to bed hungry.”

“I can manage better than that.” Joy’s eyes gleamed. “We’ll raid the larder. What is all this about ghosts?”

“Jen had a nightmare, and she came to see if I was all right.” Joan spoke quickly, to end the misunderstanding. “She says she saw two figures cross the garth and disappear into the chapter-house. We were going to look for them when you butted in, and shrieked so that any ghost would run away.”

“Cats,” said Joy. “The Curate on the prowl.”

“She says not cats—”

“Much bigger than cats. It was people —or ghosts,” Jen asserted stoutly.

Joy and Janice stared at her. “Sure?” Janice asked.

“Better go and see,” Joy said, as Jen nodded.

“We’re going, now, unless anybody else turns up to stop us,” Joan assured them.

“Lead the way! Your Abbey!” Joy commanded.

Joan strode across the garth, purposeful and determined.

“The avenging angel!” Janice murmured. “I’m sorry for the trespassers. But I thought no one could get into the Abbey?”

Joan’s torch flashed round the chapterhouse. “Nobody here. Well, Jen?”

“The passage leading to the underground church,” Jen hissed.

“The door’s locked—or it ought to be.”

“Ought to be is right,” Joy cried.

They gathered round the ancient door which led to the crypt. It was not merely unlocked; it was open.

Joan knit her brows. “I suppose the panel door into the house is properly shut? I wouldn’t like Mother to be frightened—or the girls.”

“Sure to be. What does it mean, Joan?” Jen whispered.

“It’s obvious. Somebody has stolen Ann Watson’s keys.”

“Oh! While she was looking after the ill old lady? How mean!”

“Look out!” Joy yelled.

“Run for it!” She had heard a terrified whisper just inside the dark passage.

Two small figures darted out, twisting and turning in an effort to avoid capture. They had not expected more than one enemy, or at most two.

“Gosh! There’s crowds o’ people!” cried a shrill voice.

The girls pounced, and each “ghost” found himself gripped by two pairs of hands. The small boys kicked and struggled, but the girls—even Jen—were bigger than they were.

“Micky!” Joan said sternly. “I guessed it must be you. Who is the other one?”

“Frankie Watson,” Joy said briefly. Her tone was full of meaning, and Janice, helping to hold Frankie, understood. Frankie’s eyes were vacant and his lips tremulous; he was obviously not at all bright. He burst into tears, sobbing that he wanted to go home.

“You’ll go home all right,” Joan assured him. “Stop that row! I want to hear about this from Micky. Now, Mick, what does this mean? I thought you’d had enough of the Abbey when you were here with Dick?”

“Micky was the boy who helped Dicky Jessop, when they discovered the crypt, a fortnight ago,” Joy explained hastily to Janice, “while you were in Scotland. Dick fell down the old well and broke his leg, and Micky thought he was dead and raced off home and left him there all night, instead of fetching help. A ghastly thing to do; quite asinine! But Micky’s not very bright, though he’s not like Frankie.”

Janice glanced at Frankie again and nodded.

Micky was whimpering and wriggling in Joan’s grasp.

“Master Dick said—he said there was shiny stones buried down there, and we’d find ‘em and we’d have a lot of money. He never got them, so we thought we’d have another look for them.”

“They wouldn’t have been yours, or Dick’s, if you had found them. You never thought of that, I suppose?” Joan said grimly. “And you stole Mrs. Watson’s keys, when she was taking care of your grandmother? Really, Micky! You are a horrible little boy!”

“Just what you’d expect from a creature who could leave poor Dick alone with a broken leg!” Jen observed.

“I thought as Master Dick were dead!” Micky cried. “I couldn’ do nothin’ to help him!”

“You could do everything,” Jen said severely. “You were the only one who could do anything, because you were the only one who knew. Dick had a frightful night, all alone in the dark. You might at least have stayed to talk to him.”

“I thought for sure he was dead,” Micky urged unhappily.

“All the more reason to fetch somebody,” Joy told him.

“Frankie wanted to see them shiny stones.” Micky changed the subject hurriedly. He had felt very uneasy about his desertion of Dick, and he had no wish to talk about it.

“Oh, don’t try to put it on to Frankie!” Joy said scornfully.

“And Auntie Ann she gave me the keys—”

Joan had loosed her hold on him, but at this she pounced again, gripping his shoulder and thundering her wrath on him.

“Is that true? Mick, look at me! Look at me, I say! Now is that true? Did Mrs. Watson know what you were up to? Did she give you her keys?”

Micky quailed, and broke into wild sobbing. “No, Miss Joan. It were a lie. Her didn’t know. I took the keys out of her pocket.”

Joan gave a sigh of relief, as she shook him slightly. “It would have cost Ann Watson her job, if it had been true. But I was sure it wasn’t true. Now, Micky, what are we to do with you? You really are a hopeless little idiot!”

“Bury him in the dungeon and keep him there for a week on bread and water,” Jen suggested bitterly. “Saying a thing like that about good old Mrs. Watson! Micky, I despise you; I really do!”

“Shut him down in the old church with those rats Jen knows about,” Joy said.

Micky shuddered. “Miss Joan, you wouldn’t—!”

“I should hand him over to Mrs. Watson and the rest of her family,” Janice observed. “Unless you think perhaps the police—I”

Micky broke into a loud wail. “We never touched nothin’! We didn’ do no harm!”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Joan said curtly. “In the morning I shall tell the whole story to Mrs. Watson. Yes, of course!” as Micky wept again. “We couldn’t possibly keep it from her. It was foolish of her to take the keys to the village, and I must make her understand that. I know she was thinking about getting in to-morrow morning, but I could have waited till she came back.”

“She’ll have forty fits when she can’t find the keys,” Jen said.

“Give me those keys, Micky!” Joan took the keys from his limp hand. “Yes, Jen; I hadn’t thought of that. But if she has a fright, it will teach her to be more careful. I shall go very early and tell her the story.”

“Grandfather he’ll give me the stick,” Micky quavered.

“That’s nothing to do with me,” Joan retorted. “You’ve been trespassing, and you meant to steal, if you could. And you told us a lie about Mrs. Watson. Now both of you get down into that tunnel, quickly.”

Micky gave a yelp of fright, and the other girls looked at her doubtfully.

“You can sit on the steps, where you can see us; you needn’t go down. But you came to look for tunnels, and you’re going to have them. I don’t think anything horrible will come up the steps behind you.”

Micky gave another howl of dismay, and Frankie stared blankly at Joan.

“Down you go!” Joan said ruthlessly. “Into that black hole; give me those torches! Now squat on the steps; you’re going to stay there till the morning, and we’re going to see that you do it. Now, Jen! Scoot to Mrs. Watson’s rooms— here’s her key. Raid her larder and find us some supper. Bring candles and matches. Don’t trouble about plates for Mick and Frankie; they aren’t going to have anything to eat.”

Joy gave a hoot of laughter. “I’ll go with her; two can carry more than one. A midnight picnic, after all! And the criminals looking on hungrily! Come on, Jenny-Wren!”

“Cups of teal” Jen shouted. “It’s chilly! We must keep Joan warm!” and she darted off across the garth.

“Do you want to go back to the house, Jandy Mac?” Joan asked. “I shall have to spend what’s left of the night keeping an eye on our criminals.”

“I’ll keep you company,” Janice grinned. “But we really ought to send young Jen back to bed.”

“I wouldn’t like to try,” Joan laughed. “I really wouldn’t dare to suggest it. We shall have to apologise to Miss Macey in the morning.”

Jen staggered across the moonlit garth with her arms full of rugs and cushions. “The kettle’s on. Joy’s finding all sorts of good things in Mrs. Watson’s larder; she’ll need to go shopping to-morrow. Spread these on the ground, Joan and Jandy. Shall I give the criminals that old mat to sit on? I brought it on purpose; it’s not good enough for you.”

“They may have one mat between them,” Joan conceded.

With Joy’s help, a goodly feast was spread in one corner of the chapter-house, from which the entrance to the tunnel could be seen.

“It’s a draughty spot for a picnic,” Joy said. “But this corner’s quite cosy. We’re well out of the wind.”

“Ought we to have a picnic in the chapter-house?” Jen began doubtfully. “Wasn’t it a frightfully holy place?”

“Once,” Joan agreed. “I’m afraid the holiness is rather thin, after all these years!”

“Oh well, it’s your Abbey!” Jen put her scruples aside, and the four girls sat round the candles on rugs or cushions, to enjoy cups of tea and slices of homemade plum cake, bananas and oranges.

Jen’s eyes danced with mischief. “I am enjoying myself! Isn’t the tea lovely and hot? And those biscuits are first class; home-made, I bet!”

“Mrs. Watson’s a jolly good cook. Her cake’s delicious.” Joy seconded her efforts nobly. “Have a banana, Jandy Mac?”

They talked loudly about the food and about their enjoyment of it, conscious that Micky and Frankie were listening hungrily.

“They’re feeling frightful,” Joy murmured, with satisfaction. “Every word we say makes them feel worse.”

“I feel like Nero, or some other torturer, feasting while the early Christians starved to death,” Jen chuckled.

Presently, however, she looked at Joan. “Just two biscuits left. Joan, couldn’t we—?”

Joan nodded permission, and Jen carried the plate to the ravenous small boys, crouching on the mat in the entrance to the tunnel. They had been casting continual nervous glances over their shoulders at the black passage behind.

“It’s more than you deserve, but Joan says you may each have one biscuit,” Jen said severely. “And you needn’t keep looking down there, for there’s nothing in the tunnel, not even rats. There might possibly be a cat, but nothing else.”

Mick and Frankie took the biscuits humbly, but remained huddled together while the girls cleared up the remains of the feast. Frankie was in one of his silent moods, to which Micky was well accustomed accustomed, and he had not a word to say. Later, they agreed that the one biscuit had made them feel even more hungry than before.

“Run and find out the time, Jen,” Joan commanded.

Jen ran to Ann Watson’s sitting-room, and came back to report gleefully that it was four o’clock.

“In an hour I shall take the criminals home,” Joan said. “Joy and Jandy had better stay, for fear the silly kids try to bolt. Jen, dear!”

“I know. You want me to go to bed. It’s rather mean, when but for me you wouldn’t have known anything about the burglars and all sorts of damage might have been done to our lovely old church,” Jen said grudgingly. “But there’s three hours of the night left; I could have a jolly good sleep. And there’s school to-morrow. All right, Joan-Queen, i’ll go. I shan’t worry about you now, since Joy and Jandy are here.”

Reluctantly she went off, accompanied as far as the lawn by Joy.

“I wonder she went so willingly,” Janice said.

“She’s tired,” Joan smiled. “And there are to-morrow’s classes. We three won’t be good for much, I’m afraid. I shall have to own up to Miss Macey. Would you feel like washing our dishes and leaving everything tidy for Ann? Then, boys, quick march to the kitchen!”

“Jandy and I will take one each.” Joy’s hand fell heavily on Micky’s shoulder, as

he crept unhappily from his corner.

The intruders were stiff and weary and were only too glad to leave their tunnel. They sat gloomily on hard kitchen chairs while the girls washed up and put things away; and still more gloomily set out for the village, trudging between Joy and Janice, with Joan separating them in the middle.

Ann Watson, wild-eyed and frightened, came running to meet them.

“Miss Joan! The keys be gone! The keys of the Abbey, Miss Joan!

“Oh, thanks be! “ as Joan silently held them out to her. “Was it them little limbs? Micky, I’ll give you a good hiding, that I will!“

“I should put him to bed for the whole day. He’s had an unpleasant night. It’s partly your fault, Ann; it was silly to take the keys away with you. How is old Mrs. Watson?”

“Better, Miss Joan. But I been up with her all night. A neighbour’s going to see to her now, so I’ll get back to the Abbey.”

“We’ve had to be up all night too, since these burglars disturbed us,” Joy said. “I’m afraid we’ve eaten most of your cake and fruit, Ann.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Joy.”

“Two o’clock in the morning’s a hungry time.” Janice glanced at the woebegone boys. “You’d better give these two some breakfast. We didn’t feel we had to feed them.”

“It’s more than breakfast they’ll get!” Ann vowed.

“Don’t be too fierce,” Joan said, in an undertone. “We’ve given them a nasty time and they’re a bit done up. Micky is just silly, after all, and Frankie doesn’t understand. We’ll leave them with you. Take more care of those keys, Ann!”

“Now we explain to our good headmistress,” Joy remarked, as they went up the lane. “Joan must do that. It has all been on account of her Abbey!”

Miss Macey sighed, when she understood. But she would have found it hard to scold Joan or Joy just now.

“Joan dear, if only you could stop having adventures in your Abbey, so long as we are living with you!”

“I’ll try, Miss Macey. But I really couldn’t help it this time. We have had a thoroughly haunted night in the Abbey!“ and Joan went off to tell the story to her mother.