“Ssh! Listen!” whispered the Loafer. There was no sound save the gentle patter of the rain and the swish of the wind in the maples outside the door. “It wasn’t,” the Storekeeper answered. “But the trouble began a week later.” “It’s a strange story,” said the Tinsmith, “an’ ef any one but your Pap hed told it I’d hev my suspitchions. But his sugar was damp.” There was a long silence. From the cellar came again the weird sound, low but distinct. The G. A. R. Man arose and seized the lamp from the counter. “They ain’t no sech things ez ghos’,” he cried. “This is all foolershness. Ef you fellys comes we’ll find out what that is.” He shuffled slowly toward the dark end of the store. For a moment his companions hesitated. Then the Storekeeper joined the leader of the hazardous enterprise and one by one the others followed. They tiptoed through the door; they wound their way among the boxes and barrels that filled the store-room, and reached the head of the stairway that led to the cellar. Here the G. A. R. Man halted. The lamp in his hand vibrated to and fro, throwing grotesque shadows on the white ceiling and walls. The men clustered about him and gazed timidly into the darkness beneath. He placed one foot on the step, then stopped. “They ain’t no sech things ez ghos’,” he said. “Course th-th-they ain’t,” chattered the Miller, who was holding the Storekeeper by the arm. “It’s r-r-rats,” the Tinsmith ventured. “Or a l-l-loose b-b-board,” suggested the veteran. “Foolershness,” whispered the Loafer, “‘v-v-v-vestig-g-gatin’ ghosts ’hen they ain’t no sech things. The Missus is settin’ up fer me an’ I’ll hev to be goin’.” “Pap allus was superstitchous,” exclaimed the Storekeeper, as he made his way back through the maze of boxes and barrels to the store in the wake of the Loafer. The others were hurrying along in the rear. The rain had ceased. Overhead the black clouds, visible in the bright starlight, were scurrying away towards the hills. The G. A. R. Man and the Loafer were parting at the latter’s gate at the end of the village. “Hev you ben gittin’ any sugar o’ him lately?” asked the veteran, pointing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction whence they had come. “I hev,” replied the Loafer. “An’ I guess ole Ed Harmon is still at it.” “What do ye think it was?” “It might ’a’ ben a rat. It might ’a’ ben a loose board. It might ’a’ ben a hundred things like that. I ain’t superstitchous--not a bit superstitchous.” The speaker paused. “But jest the same I ain’t fer investigatin’ ghosts,” he added. CHAPTER XIII. _Rivals._ “What was the question fer debate?” asked the School Teacher. “Resawlved that the Negro is more worthy o’ government support than the Indian,” replied the Miller. “And the decision?” “One jedge voted fer the affirmative an’ one fer the negative.” “And the third?”