“So Cousin Viney doesn’t believe in ghosts?” asked Harry in an offhand sort of way.
“No more than Granny does. Anyhow, Cousin Viney is away now. She goes and comes, visiting around among various relatives. She went away this morning—didn’t say when she would come back.”
“It’s just as well,” said Sim to Dot. “Then we won’t have to ask her to Granny’s little party. And I don’t like Cousin Viney very much, anyhow.”
“She did rather give me the creeps,” Dot said, “so sharp and ‘sassy.’”
They rode on into Jockey Hollow while the snowflakes continued to sift down upon them, almost hiding the ghostly Hall behind a thin, shifting, white curtain.
CHAPTER XXIII
Mistletoe
There were many historic spots in Jockey Hollow. Arden had found out some facts from the library book, and Dick knew others gleaned in various ways. As they rode along they talked about it all.
Dick pointed out rows of chimney stones where once had stood the log huts that housed the 10,000 men of Washington’s army camped in the Hollow that winter of 1779. Washington himself had a mansion in a near-by town long famous in history, Dick took pleasure in reminding them.
Dick located a grove of locust trees, shrouded now in white where, he said, several hundred men of the unfortunate Continental Army had died and were buried along the banks of Primrose Brook which now was frozen over and covered with downy snow.
“Well, when they get the park laid out and finished,” suggested Arden, “I suppose they’ll put up a bronze tablet somewhere around here to commemorate the valiant men.”