[CHAPTER XV.—THE HAUNTED MILL.]
A branch of the Meden runs through the northwestern portion of that region still known as Sherwood Forest. At one time all that country was covered with one great, dense forest, but now there are many pieces of woods and a great deal of cleared country, with beautiful cottages and winding roads.
In a little, wooded valley stands an old, deserted mill. The broken water wheel is still and covered with rank moss and slime. The mill has settled on one side until it threatens to topple into the little basin above the almost vanished dam. It seems to cling to the old-fashioned stone chimney in a pitiful way for support.
This is known as the “Haunted Mill of the Meden,” and tourists travel far to see it. Hundreds of artists have daubed its semblance on their canvases.
Years ago, it is said, the miller, crazed by solitude or something, murdered his beautiful daughter in the old mill and then committed suicide. The people of that region tell that the ghosts of both father and daughter visit the old mill nightly at the hour when the crime was committed, which was shortly after midnight.
The haunted mill stands about eight English miles from Robin Hood’s Tavern.
A cold moon had risen in the east, and it was near the hour when the ghosts of the old mill were supposed to walk.
At least half a mile from the mill three horsemen had halted. They were Dick Merriwell, Brad Buckhart, and Swinton, the keeper of Robin Hood’s Tavern.
Not only had the landlord’s demands been fully satisfied and appeased by Dick, but he had been induced by the payment of a liberal sum to guide the boys to the haunted mill.
“You can’t miss it,” he declared in a low tone. “It’s straight down this road in the wood yonder.”