“After that,” replied the Judge. “Is not this your first visit to America?” “It is, indeed,” said Mr. Norton. “Then try to make the most of it,” said Judge Danvers. “There’s no telling where you may have to travel before we get through.” Mr. Ashbel Norton was apparently a gentleman accustomed to having his own way, but he was old enough to know there was little to be gained in a dispute with a lawyer, and so, after answering a legion of what seemed to him unimportant questions, he bowed himself out, promising to return at the end of the week. “Very curious affair,” growled Judge Danvers, after his new client had departed. “Now I’ve two family mysteries on my hands--one from England, and one from I don’t know where. Well, I’ll set the wires a-working on this one, but, for all that, I won’t neglect the other. I must find that rascal, Montague, and then I must write to Barnaby. No, not that, I must go to see him; but I’d like to find the Major first.” A busy head was that of the old lawyer that afternoon and evening, what with one case and another; but not one whit more active than had been the brains of the two youngsters, away up there in Ogleport. At the supper table Brayton remarked to Mrs. Wood: “The sun went down in a great pile of clouds. Looks very much as if a storm were brewing.” “’Bout time for one,” replied the landlady. “I kind o’ feel it in my bones. Not that I’m at all superstitious, only maybe it’s rheumatism.” “Superstitious?” remarked Val, maliciously. “Mr. Brayton, do you believe in ghosts?” Brayton had heard all that there was to hear about the village legends, and he was just “boy” enough to answer: “Can’t say, Val; but I never saw one.” “Or heard one?” asked Bar. “No, nor heard one,” said Brayton; “but I believe I should like to.” “Ghosts!” exclaimed Mrs. Wood. “I s’pose it was ghosts that tied poor Dr. Dryer’s dun heifer to the bell rope.” “Exactly,” said Brayton. “That’s the kind I imagine there are more of than any other. All very good ghosts till they are found out.” “They haven’t found out that one,” said Val. “Not yet they haven’t,” snapped Mrs. Wood; “but I believe his right name is Zebedee Fuller.” “Nothing very ghostly about Zeb,” said Bar. “Nor the heifer,” added Val. Just then there came a pretty good gust of wind through the open window of the dining-room, and the two young conspirators could scarcely avoid a sly glance into each other’s eyes. It was a very quick flash of a glance, but George Brayton caught it. He could not guess at its meaning just then, but he stored it away in his memory for future reference, for it meant, as plainly as anything could, “Fun a-coming. Wait and see.” So he determined to do that very thing, and went on with his supper. The night promised to be a dark and stormy one by the time the boys had a chance to look out on it. All the more so because the weather seemed disposed to take its own time in getting ready.