Nicholas Gayne was still conscious that he had not made a pleasing impression in his treatment of his nephew and it was no part of his programme to attract attention. He approached the boy now. "What are you going to do with yourself, Bert?" "I don't know," was the answer. "Want to come with me?" "No, sir." "Well, that's plain enough," said Gayne, laughing and looking around on the company. "He's a very foolish boy," said Miss Emerson, "when he has an opportunity to watch you sketch." "Oh, Mr. Gayne!" cried Veronica. "Don't go until you tell us about the haunted farm." "Where did you ever hear about that?" asked the artist, looking with some favor on Veronica's round and dimpled personality. "I thought you were a stranger here." "I am, but Genevieve Wilks has just been telling me that you really saw the spook." Gayne laughed. "When I came up here last summer, I was told about the haunted farm, and, of course, I was interested in it at once. There are some particularly good views from there. So, naturally, I became one of the ha'nts myself and spent a lot of time with them." "Oh, but tell us what it looked like," persisted Veronica. "Did you really think you saw one?" "What a subject for this time of a clear, sunny day," said Gayne, lightly. "Wait until the thunder rolls some stormy night," and, lifting his cap, he hurried away through the field, his sketch-book under his arm. Diana looked after his receding form. "It is odd how little like an artist Mr. Gayne looks," she said. "You mean he should have long hair and dreamy eyes?" asked Philip. "I think it is the eyes," replied Diana thoughtfully. "I cannot picture his looking with concentration and persistence at anything." "Oh, I've seen him make a pretty good stab at it," said Philip dryly, thinking of the manner in which he had on several occasions seen him stare at Diana. At this point the dull boy found his tongue. "I wouldn't go up there," he said haltingly. "Up where?" asked Mrs. Lowell encouragingly. "Up to that farm. It's full of nettles that sting, and then, when it's dark, ghosts." The group exchanged glances. "Who told you that?" asked Philip. "Uncle Nick." It did not increase the general admiration of Mr. Gayne that he should take such means for securing safety from his nephew's companionship. Mrs. Lowell took the boy's arm. "I want to go down to the water," she said. "Will you go with me?" "Are you afraid to go alone?" he asked. "I should like it better if you went with me." He allowed himself to be led around the house, then on among the grassy hummocks and clump of bay and savin and countless blueberry bushes. "Do you see what quantities of blueberries we are going to have?" asked Mrs. Lowell. "Are we?" "Yes. These are berry bushes. Do you like blueberries?" "I don't know."