"I 'spec's you'd find some bay trees 'long de big road, ma'am," said Julius. "But I know about the flowers on the short road, and they are the ones I want." We drove down the lane to the highway, and soon struck into the short road leading past the mineral spring. Our route lay partly through a swamp, and on each side the dark, umbrageous foliage, unbroken by any clearing, lent to the road solemnity, and to the air a refreshing coolness. About half a mile from the house, and about halfway to the mineral spring, we stopped at the tree of which my wife had spoken, and reaching up to the low-hanging boughs I gathered a dozen of the fragrant white flowers. When I resumed my seat in the rockaway, Julius started the mare. She went on for a few rods, until we had reached the edge of a branch crossing the road, when she stopped short. "Why did you stop, Julius?" I asked. "I didn', suh," he replied. "'T wuz de mare stop'. G' 'long dere, Lucy! W'at you mean by dis foolis'ness?" Julius jerked the reins and applied the whip lightly, but the mare did not stir. "Perhaps you had better get down and lead her," I suggested. "If you get her started, you can cross on the log and keep your feet dry." Julius alighted, took hold of the bridle, and vainly essayed to make the mare move. She planted her feet with even more evident obstinacy. "I don't know what to make of this," I said. "I have never known her to balk before. Have you, Julius?" "No, suh," replied the old man, "I nebber has. It's a cu'ous thing ter me, suh." "What's the best way to make her go?" "I 'spec's, suh, dat ef I'd tu'n her roun' she'd go de udder way." "But we want her to go this way." "Well, suh, I 'low ef we des set heah fo' er fibe minutes, she'll sta't up by herse'f." "All right," I rejoined, "it is cooler here than any place I have struck to-day. We'll let her stand for a while, and see what she does." We had sat in silence for a few minutes, when Julius suddenly ejaculated, "Uh huh! I knows w'y dis mare doan go. It des flash 'cross my reccommemb'ance." "Why is it, Julius?" I inquired. "Ca'se she sees Chloe." "Where is Chloe?" I demanded. "Chloe's done be'n dead dese fo'ty years er mo'," the old man returned. "Her ha'nt is settin' ober yander on de udder side er de branch, unner dat willer tree, dis blessed minute." "Why, Julius!" said my wife, "do you see the haunt?" "No'm," he answered, shaking his head, "I doan see 'er, but de mare sees 'er." "How do you know?" I inquired. "Well, suh, dis yer is a gray hoss, en dis yer is a Friday; en a gray hoss kin alluz see a ha'nt w'at walks on Friday." "Who was Chloe?" said Mabel. "And why does Chloe's haunt walk?" asked my wife. "It's all in de tale, ma'am," Julius replied, with a deep sigh. "It's all in de tale." "Tell us the tale," I said. "Perhaps, by the time you get through, the haunt will go away and the mare will cross."