these times."

"How did that story start?"

"Some allows they has seen queer lights there at night. An' there 's
been shadders seen among the trees."

The girl leaned forward excitedly.

"Old wives' tales," Donaldson reassured her in an undertone.

"This has been lately?" he inquired of the driver.

"Off an' on in th' last few weeks."

Donaldson turned to the girl whose features had grown fixed again in
that same old gloom of haunting fear.

"They circulate such yarns as those about every closed house," he said.

"Those lights and shadows are n't made by ghosts," she whispered.

"Then--that's so," he answered with sudden understanding. "It's the
boy himself!"

At the barred lane which swept in a curve out of sight from the road he
dismissed the driver. Even if they were successful in their quest, it
would probably be necessary to straighten out Arsdale before allowing
him to be seen. But as an afterthought he turned back and ordered the
man to call here for them in time to make the afternoon train.

He lowered the rails, and Miss Arsdale led the way without hesitation
along a grass-grown road and through an old orchard. The trees were
scraggly and untrimmed, littered with dead branches, but Spring, the
mother, had decked them with green leaves and buds until they looked as
jaunty as old people going to a fair. The sun sifted through the
tender sprigs to the sprouting soil beneath, making there the semblance
of a choice rug of a green and gold pattern. The bungalow stood upon
the top of a small hill, concealed from the road. It was of rather
attractive appearance, though sadly in need of repair. All the windows
were curtained and there was no sign of life. The broad piazza which
ran around three sides of it was cluttered with dead leaves.

[Illustration: _He lowered the rails, and Miss Arsdale led the way_]

She took the key to the front door from her purse and he inserted it in
the lock.

"You wait out here," he commanded, "until I take a look around."

"I would rather go in with you. I know the house."

"I will open it up first," he said calmly, and stepping in before she
had time to protest further, he closed the door behind him. He heard
her clenched fists pounding excitedly on the panels.

"Mr. Donaldson," she pleaded, "it isn't safe. You don't know--"

"Don't do that," he shouted back. "I'll be out in a few moments."

"But you don't know him," she cried; "he might strike you!"