Godfrey and his visitor had not gone very far into the woods, before the former told himself that if Clarence had come out there for the purpose of hunting squirrels, he certainly knew very little of the nature of the animals of which he was in search. He talked incessantly, and in a tone of voice loud enough to frighten all the wild animals for a quarter of a mile around. He did not say “squirrel” once, and neither did he appear to be anxious to find any, for he was more interested in studying the face of his companion, than in searching the tree tops where the game was most likely to be found. So closely did he watch Godfrey that the latter became uneasy; and when he could no longer endure his scrutiny he said, suddenly: “Do ye think ye ever seed me afore, Mr. Clarence, or what’s the matter of ye? Yer tongue says one thing to me, an’ yer face says another.” “Well, what does my face say?” asked Clarence. “I can’t quite seem to make out, an’ that’s why I axed ye. Ye look as though ye wanted to say something to me and didn’t know how to begin.” “Mr. Evans, you would soon make yourself rich if you were to turn fortune-teller,” said Clarence. “You have hit the nail squarely on the head. Have a weed?” As he spoke, he thrust his hand into one of the pockets of his game-bag, and brought it out again filled with cigars. Either by accident or design he brought something else, too--something that fell on the ground at Godfrey’s feet, and at which he gazed as if fascinated. It was the cob-pipe he had lost the night before in General Gordon’s potato patch. After making sure that it was his own property, he looked toward Clarence, who could scarcely refrain from laughing outright, so utterly astounded and bewildered did Godfrey seem to be. “Whar did ye get it?” he demanded, as soon as he could speak, “an’ how came ye by it?” “I found it in the potato patch where you and Dan were digging last night. You did not find the eighty thousand, did you? Why, what’s the matter with you?” Clarence was not a little surprised at the effect of his words. They seemed to take away all Godfrey’s strength, and to crush him completely. He wilted before the boy’s eyes like a blade of grass that had been struck by the frost. He looked around for a place to sit down, but as he could not find any to suit him, he sat down right where he was and groaned aloud. “What’s the matter with you?” repeated Clarence. “Who told you that was my pipe?” asked Godfrey. “My intuition.” “Yer what?” “My instinct.” Godfrey looked more bewildered than ever. “Ye mean that the haunt told ye, don’t ye?” said he. “The haunt!” repeated Clarence. “What’s that?” “Why, the sperrit; the--the--ole Jordan’s ghost. He was thar, kase I seed him. Whar was you, Mr. Clarence?” “I was in the house, where all honest folks were at that time of the night. Did you say you saw a ghost?” “I did say so, an’ I done seed it, too.” “What did it look like?”