“I suppose,” he suggested to the old lady, “that you can’t throw any light on the so-called ghostly happenings here?”
“Not the least in the world,” laughed Granny. “None of them ever happened in my sight or hearing. I just don’t believe them. Though, I suppose, there must be something queer, for there are many stories dating back a long time. And surely those workmen wouldn’t act as they did unless something happened. And that one poor man wouldn’t purposely slide down an ash-chute, I think. But it’s all a mystery to me.”
“Do you know any more stories about the place you haven’t told us?” asked Arden. “I mean a sort of ghost story that isn’t about Patience Howe or Nathaniel Greene?”
“I might manage to remember one,” smiled Granny.
“Oh, do tell us!” begged Terry and Sim.
Dorothy was on the outer edge of the little circle about Granny, who sat near the crackling fire. Harry had wandered to a distant window, and Dorothy followed him.
“Are you game?” she whispered to him.
“For what?”
“To go and look for a ghost instead of sitting here listening to stories about one. Come on! I dare you!” she challenged, her eyes sparkling in the hearth glow. “We each can take a flashlight. Let’s slip away while the others are listening to Granny tell that story, and see if there isn’t a real ghost on some of the upper floors. Night and Christmas Eve ought to be a proper time for a ghost, hadn’t it? Will you come with me?”
“I will!” said Harry without a moment of hesitation.