Hal Pennington’s was one of the most interesting.
“Mine is a fearful tale,” he said, as he threw his fagot on the fire, “and I will tell it rapidly that you may all hear the marvelous and almost incredible dénouement.”
The others crowded closer to hear, for Hal spoke in low, mysterious tones.
“It was a house up on Cape Cod,” he began, “an old-fashioned, rambling sort of house, that was said to be haunted. It had long borne this reputation, and one room in particular, a small room at the end of a long ball-room, was said to be the room where the ghost appeared. The people who told about it always shuddered, and refused to tell what horrible shapes the ghost assumed when it made itself visible.”
Harry Harper gave a scared sort of gasping groan, and then the other boys groaned dismally, while the girls shivered and giggled both at once.
“A lot of us fellows,” went on Hal, “didn’t believe in this ghost, and we decided to spend a night in the old house and test it.”
“Did no one live in the house?” asked Betty.
“Oh, no; it hadn’t been occupied for years, because of the ghost. Well, eight of us went there one evening, and one, Phil Hardy, said he would go into the haunted room and lock himself in, and we others must keep watch in the ball-room.”
“Why did he lock himself in?” asked Lena.
“Because he thought the ghost was some person playing a trick on us. He wasn’t afraid of a ghost, but he was of a real marauder. So we other boys stayed in the big, dark, empty ball-room. That is, it was nearly empty—only a few chairs and sofas ranged against the wall. We hid behind these, having previously locked all the doors. You see, we were willing to receive the ghost, but we didn’t care to have burglars coming in. The story was that the ghost came from the hall into the ball-room, traversed the full length of that, and then entered the little anteroom where Phil was keeping watch.