she confided to Clover, when, hot and tired and flushed with the heat, she had filled the last chicken yard pan. "And I'm going up to the house and help myself from the pantry. I'm 'most sure the kitchen door is unlocked; no one around here ever locks the back door."
She was very hungry by this time, having had nothing since an early breakfast, and she had no scruples about helping herself to whatever edibles she might find.
"I begin to sympathize with all the hired men," she thought, making her way to the kitchen door. "I don't wonder they eat huge meals when they have to do such hard work."
The door, as she had expected, was not locked. A slight turn on the knob opened it easily, and Betty stepped cautiously into the kitchen. The drawn shades made it dark, but it was not the darkness that caused Betty to jump back a step.
She listened intently. Would she hear the noise again, or had it been only her nervous imagination?
No—there it was again, plain and unmistakable. Some one had groaned!
