“Be still,” she commanded, in a whisper. “I told you little pitchers had big ears. She heard all that foolishness that Larry girl told you.” Then to the younger girls she said: “We’ll go right up and see if we can find any goat there. But I am sure Uncle Peter would not have kept a goat in his garret.” “But you and Aggie _said_ so,” declared Dot, much put out. “You misunderstood what we said. And you shouldn’t listen to hear what other people say—that’s eavesdropping, and is not nice at all. Come.” Ruth mounted the stairs ahead and threw open the garret door. A great, dimly lit, unfinished room was revealed, the entire size of the main part of the mansion. Forests of clothing hung from the rafters. There were huge trunks and chests, and all manner of odd pieces of furniture. The small windows were curtained with spider’s lacework of the very finest pattern. Dust lay thick upon everything. Agnes sneezed. “Goodness! what a place!” she said. “I don’t believe there is a goat here, Dot,” said Tess, becoming her usual practical self. “He’d—he’d cough himself to death!” “You can take that grass down stairs,” said Ruth, smiling. But she remained behind to whisper to Agnes: “You’ll have to have a care what you say before that young one, Ag. It was ‘the _ghost_ in the garret’ she heard you speak about.” “Well,” admitted the plump sister, “I could see the whole of that dusty old place. It doesn’t seem to me as though _any_ ghost would care to live there. I guess that Eva Larry didn’t know what she was talking about after all.” It was not, however, altogether funny. Ruth realized that, if Agnes did not. “I really wish that girl had not told you that silly story,” said the elder sister. “Well, if there should be a ghost——” “Oh, be still!” exclaimed Ruth. “You know there’s no such thing, Aggie.” “I don’t care,” concluded Aggie. “The old house _is_ dreadfully spooky. And that garret——” “Is a very dusty place,” finished Ruth, briskly, all her housewifely instincts aroused. “Some day soon we’ll go up there and have a thorough house-cleaning.” “Oh!” “We’ll drive out both the ghost and the goat,” laughed Ruth. “Why, that will be a lovely place to play in on rainy days.” “Boo! it’s spooky,” repeated her sister. “It won’t be, after we clean it up.” “And Eva says that’s when the haunt appears—on stormy days.” “I declare! you’re a most exasperating child,” said Ruth, and that shut Agnes’ lips pretty tight for the time being. She did not like to be called a child. It was a day or two later that Mrs. McCall sent for Ruth to come to the back door to see an old colored man who stood there, turning his battered hat around and around in his hands, the sun shining on his bald, brown skull. “Good mawnin’, Missie,” said he, humbly. “Is yo’ one o’ dese yere relatifs of Mars’ Peter, what done come to lib yere in de ol’ Co’ner House?” “Yes,” said Ruth, smiling. “I am Ruth Kenway.” “Well, Missie, I’s Unc’ Rufus,” said the old man, simply.