r belongings up to Hillcrest; and to see that they were
comfortable for the night before he came back.

This encouraged Mrs. Pritchett, when Lyddy took out her purse to pay for
their entertainment, to declare:

"For the good land, no! We ain't goin' to charge ye for a meal of
vittles--and you gals Dr. Polly Phelps's own grandchildren! B'sides, we
want ye to be neighborly. It's nice for Sairy to have young companions,
too. I tell her she'll git to be a reg'lar old maid if she don't 'sociate
more with gals of her own age."

Sairy bridled and blushed at this. But she wasn't an unkind girl, and
she helped 'Phemie gather their possessions--especially the latter's wet
clothing.

"I'm sure I wish ye joy up there at the old house," said Sairy, with a
shudder. "But ye wouldn't ketch me."

"Catch you doing what?" asked 'Phemie, wonderingly.

"Stayin' in Dr. Phelps's old house over night," explained Sairy.

"Why not?"

The farmer's daughter drew close to 'Phemie's ear and whispered:

"It's ha'nted!"

"_What?_" cried 'Phemie.

"Ghosts," exclaimed Sairy, in a thrilling voice. "All old houses is
ha'nted. And that's been give up to ghosts for years an' years."

"Oh, goody!" exclaimed 'Phemie, clasping her hands and almost dancing in
delight. "Do you mean it's a really, truly haunted house?"

Sairy Pritchett gazed at her with slack jaw and round eyes for a minute.
Then she sniffed.

"Wa-al!" she muttered. "I re'lly thought you was _bright_. But I see ye
ain't got any too much sense, after all," and forthwith refused to say
anything more to 'Phemie.

But the younger Bray girl decided to say nothing about the supposed
ghostly occupants of Hillcrest to her sister--for the present, at least.

There was still half a mile of road to climb to Hillcrest, for the way was
more winding than it had been below; and as the girls viewed the summit
of the ridge behind Aunt Jane's old farm they saw that the heaped-up
rocks were far more rugged than romantic, after all.

"There's two hundred acres of it," Lucas observed, chirruping to the
ponies. "But more'n a hundred is little more'n rocks. And even the timber
growin' among 'em ain't wuth the cuttin'. Ye couldn't draw it out.
There's firewood enough on the place, and a-plenty! But that's 'bout
all--'nless ye wanted to cut fence rails, or posts."

"What are those trees at one side, near the house?" queried Lyddy,
interestedly.

"The old orchard. _There's_ your nearest firewood. A