“How do you know, Aunt Vinnie, that ghosts have such screams?” asked Joe, who was inclined to discredit the story. “They say,” spoke up Chick, “that an awful murder was done here once. A man living here all alone was killed by another man working for him, and it was supposed that this man died here himself, for he was never seen afterward.” “Oh, nonsense, Chick,” said Mrs. Bayne, “you must not believe all you are told.” “What everybody says must be so,” persisted Chick. “Ruddy has heard as much as I have, only he darsn’t tell of it.” “I had darst to speak of it,” retorted the latter. “And I heard Bill Wythe say that he had been past here in the night when the house would be all lighted from cellar to garret and nobody was living here then, either.” “He just told you that to frighten you, Ruddy,” said Joe. “I have not seen anything strange since we came here.” “I have,” affirmed Ruddy. “Just Thursday night----” “You didn’t hear that Thursday night,” interrupted Chick. “I did.” “You didn’t. You were fast asleep and snoring all the time, ’cos I prodded you----” “I weren’t asleep any more’n you were, Chick Nobody. I was just a-making believe to see what would be done.” “You lie, Ruddy from Nowhere,” replied Chick. “And if you don’t take back that name you called me I’ll lick you.” “You can’t, nobody’s chicken, and you know it. I downed you only yesterday in the garden, and----” “I’ll show you how you downed me!” cried the redoubtable Chick, catching hold of Ruddy. “Stop, boys!” said Joe. “There is nothing to quarrel over. I wouldn’t be so foolish.” “He don’t sass me,” muttered Chick, giving Ruddy a push that sent him reeling backward. By this time the latter’s anger was raised, and springing to his feet he rushed upon the other, when the twain closed in a furious struggle for the mastery. In vain the older members of the group tried to part them. “Oh, dearie me!” cried Aunt Vinnie, “them boys will be the death and destruction of me. Here, Chick! here, Ruddy! do stop that fighting. Oh, luddy! they’ll pull their lights and livers right out’n their bodies. I’m thankful thet I was never a boy!” Joe was about to interpose again, when she discovered some one coming up the road at a run. “It’s Mary,” she declared. “It must be they have let her off from work this afternoon. How anxious she must be to get home, the way she is coming.” “She is crying,” said Mrs. Little. “Why, Mary, what has happened?” running forward to meet the girl, who was coming toward the house as fast as she could run, her hair flying in the air and a wild, hunted look on her face. “They are after me!” she cried. “Don’t let them get me! Don’t let them get me! I never did it! I never did it!” Mary then fell into the outstretched arms of her mother, where she lay without speaking, but sobbing as if her heart would break. “What is it, Mary? what is it, my child?” begged the mother. “Tell me the worst, Mary; if it be ever so bad I’ll not believe it.”