The smaller girls were not present, but Miss Titus lowered her voice: “Ain’t you none afraid of what they say’s in the garret?” “What is in the garret?” asked Ruth, calmly. “We have cleaned it all up, and have found nothing more dangerous than old clothes and spiders. We play up there on rainy days.” “I wouldn’t do it for a farm!” gasped Miss Titus. “So you believe in that ghost story?” “Yes, I do. They say some man, ’way back before Peter Stower’s father lived, hung himself up there.” “Oh!” cried Ruth. “How wicked it is to repeat such stories.” “I dunno. I can find you half a dozen good, honest folks, that have seen the ghost at the garret window.” Ruth could not help shivering. She had begun to refuse to acknowledge the evidence of her own eyes, and _that_ had helped. But Miss Titus seemed so positive. “Is—is it because they are afraid of ghosts, that so few people have come to call on us, do you suppose?” Ruth asked. The seamstress glanced at her through her spectacles. She had very sharp eyes and she snipped off threads with a bite of her sharp teeth, and stuck a sharp needle into her work in a very sharp manner. Altogether, Miss Ann Titus was a very sharp person. “I shouldn’t wonder if there was another reason,” she said. “Ain’t the minister’s wife been?” “Oh, yes. And we think she is lovely. But not many of the girls we meet at church have called. I thought maybe they were afraid. The house has had a bad name, because it was practically shut up so long.” “Yes,” agreed Miss Titus. “And Peter Stower acted funny, too. They say _his_ ghost haunts it.” “How foolish!” said Ruth, flushing. “If people don’t want to come because of _that_——” “Maybe there _is_ another reason,” said the gossip. “I’d like to know what it is!” demanded Ruth, determined to learn the worst. And Miss Titus _did_ look so knowing and mysterious. “Well, now,” said Miss Titus, biting off another thread. “Speakin’ for myself, I think you gals are just about right, and Mr. Howbridge did the right thing to put you into Peter’s house. But there’s them that thinks different.” “What _do_ you mean?” begged the puzzled Ruth. “There’s been a deal of talk. Mr. Howbridge is blamed. They say he did it just to keep the property in his own hands. He must make a good speck out of it.” “But you are puzzling me, more and more,” cried Ruth. “I suppose Mr. Howbridge does not handle Uncle Peter’s estate for nothing. How could he?” “Trust Howbridge for feathering his nest all right,” said the seamstress, bitingly. “But that ain’t it. You see, there’s them that believes other folks than you Kenway gals should have the old Corner House and all that goes with it!” “Oh!” gasped Ruth. “You do not mean Aunt Sarah?” “Sally Maltby?” snapped Miss Titus. “Well, I should say _not_. She ain’t got no rights here at all. Never did have. Never would have, if Peter had had his way.”