"No. Nothing can do that," he interrupted her. "Every day, every hour I live is my vacation."
"That," she said, "is a fine way to take life."
He looked startled, but hastened to find a vehicle to carry them the three miles which lay between the station and the bungalow. He found an old white horse attached to the dusty skeleton of a depot wagon waiting for chance passengers. They clambered into this and were soon jogging at an easy pace over the fragrant bordered road which wandered with apparent aimlessness between the green fields. The driver turned half way in his seat with easy familiarity as they started up the first long hill. "Ben't ye afeered to go inter th' house?" he inquired.
"Afraid of what?" demanded Donaldson.
"Spooks."
"They don't come out in the daytime, do they?"
"I dunno. But they do say as how th' house is ha'nted these times."
"How did that story start?"
"Some allows they has seen queer lights there at night. An' there 's been shadders seen among the trees."
The girl leaned forward excitedly.