Over vale and over hill Winter’s bitter breath is sweeping―― In the wood the owlet shrill, Cries like suffering mortal weeping. Now the farmer’s door is tight―― Now the crackling hickory burns; And to cheer the stormy night, Old cronies tell their tales by turns.] One cold winter evening, three boys happened to be together, named James, Ezra, and Stephen. They sat by the blazing hearth――for I am telling of what happened in the old-fashioned days, of broad flues and hickory fuel――without candles, for the light of the burning logs was sufficient to give the room a cheerful aspect. Out of doors the air was keen and bitter, and though the Moon shone brightly, the light snow wreaths were driving on the wind, and occasionally came in spouts against the windows, rattling like hail upon the panes. The boys, naturally enough, talked of the weather for a time, and then of the news, and by-and-by of other topics. At last it was proposed that one of them should tell a story. The scene can be best described in the way of dialogue. _James._ Come, Ezra, you tell us a story. _Ezra._ Well, you tell one first. _J._ O, I’m not good at telling a story. _E._ Won’t you tell one, Stephen? _Stephen._ I’ll tell one after you. _E._ What shall I tell about? _S._ O, anything――tell a ghost story. _E._ Well, I will tell a ghost story. There was once a house near New London, in Connecticut, situated on a lonely road, about a mile from any other dwelling. The man who built it was a farmer; and here he lived, with his wife and two children, for three years, when at last they began to hear a bell faintly ringing at night, apparently in the walls of the house. Not much was thought of it at first, but it was so frequently repeated, that it began to attract the attention of the family. They then listened, and every night, about nine o’clock, it began to ring. The people were very superstitious, and soon they were dreadfully frightened. When they went to the spot where the mysterious sound seemed to come from, it appeared to issue from another place. Sometimes it was quick and lively, and again it was slow, and apparently at a distance. At one time it seemed to be in the parlor, and then it was in one corner of the kitchen. The family became more and more alarmed; when the night set in, they gathered close together, and as soon as the ringing began, their faces grew pale, and they either sat in fearful silence, or whispered to each other, “there it is! there it is!” Thus matters went on for several months, until at last the farmer and his family became so miserable that they sold the place, and removed to another town. He had not said much about the cause of his removal, for he feared people would laugh at him; and besides, he apprehended that the story might injure the character of the house, and thus prevent his selling it at a fair price.