illed his brother.

"I don't see how you get that way, Betty," Grace argued hotly. "We all
feel as sorry for the hermit as you do, but we have his own word for it
that he really killed his brother."

"He did seem to be pretty sure of it," said Amy, with a quaver in her
voice. "When the wind rose last night and wailed around the house, I got
all creepy thinking of him alone up in that dreary little shack, living
that whole horrible thing over again."

It was the next day, and the girls were in the saddle, as usual. They
had visited the new gold diggings and found everybody excited and
optimistic, though no gold had been uncovered as yet. And now they were
trotting slowly along the open road, their thoughts busy with the
startling happenings of the day before.

"It's a wonder he doesn't go crazy," shuddered Mollie, taking up the
thread where Amy had dropped it. "I know I would. What was it he said
about being 'ghost-ridden?'"

"I don't believe he is ghost-ridden at all, except by his imagination,"
said Betty positively. "I think if he had taken the trouble to look at
the newspapers before he decided that he was a hunted man he might have
saved himself a lot of trouble and unhappiness."

"Goodness, how do you get that way, Betty?" Grace said irritably. "The
man ought to be the best judge of whether he killed anybody or not."

"Well," said the Little Captain stubbornly, "it seems to me it would
have had to be a pretty heavy bottle with a pretty strong arm behind it
to kill a man with one blow. And a scalp wound bleeds horribly, you
know."

The girls looked a little thoughtful, and for the first time since Betty
had advanced her theory they began to think that there might possibly
be something in it after all.

"That's right," said Amy, and then went on to relate an experience she
had had when skylarking with Sarah Stonington.

"She had hold of that heavy rocking chair we have in the library," Amy
said. "She was trying to pull it away from me, and I was hanging on to
it for dear life.

"Then suddenly I let go, and Aunt Sarah--she's pretty heavy, you
know--lost her balance as the chair swung forward, and fell over
backward, striking her head on the sharp edge of the piano."

"Goodness, you must have been scared," commented Mollie.

"'Scared!'" echoed Amy. "Why, I was struck dumb with terror. I thought I
had killed her. She lay there all white and funny, and her head was
bleeding dreadfully----"

"There's you