in for
life--the honest, laughing eyes, the well moulded features harmonizing
so well with the voice, and the impossible garments which marked the man
hobo and bum as plainly as though he wore a placard suspended from his
neck.

The stranger halted. Once more darkness enveloped them. "Lovely evening
for a stroll," remarked the man. "Running out to your country place?
Isn't there danger of skidding on these wet roads at night? I told
James, just before we started, to be sure to see that the chains were on
all around; but he forgot them. James is very trying sometimes. Now he
never showed up this evening and I had to start out alone, and he knows
perfectly well that I detest driving after dark in the rain."

The youth found himself smiling. His fear had suddenly vanished. No one
could harbor suspicion of the owner of that cheerful voice.

"I didn't know which road to take," he ventured, in explanation of his
presence at the cross road.

"Oh," exclaimed the man, "are there two roads here? I was looking for
this fork and came near passing it in the dark. It was a year ago since
I came this way; but I recall a deserted house about a mile up the dirt
road. It will shelter us from the inclemencies of the weather."

"Oh!" cried the youth. "Now I know where I am. In the dark and the storm
and after all that has happened to me tonight nothing seemed natural.
It was just as though I was in some strange land; but I know now. Yes,
there is a deserted house a little less than a mile from here; but you
wouldn't want to stop there at night. They tell some frightful stories
about it. It hasn't been occupied for over twenty years--not since the
Squibbs were found murdered there--the father, mother three sons, and
a daughter. They never discovered the murderer, and the house has stood
vacant and the farm unworked almost continuously since. A couple of men
tried working it; but they didn't stay long. A night or so was enough
for them and their families. I remember hearing as a little--er--child
stories of the frightful things that happened there in the house where
the Squibbs were murdered--things that happened after dark when the
lights were out. Oh, I wouldn't even pass that place on a night like
this."

The man smiled. "I slept there alone one rainy night about a year
ago," he said. "I didn't see or hear anything unusual. Such stories are
ridiculous; and even if there was a little truth in them, noises can't
harm you as much as s