“I—I think I did.”
“I guess Nat’s been reading too many novels,” was Marie’s opinion.
“I have not! There isn’t a thing up here to read anyhow, if I wanted to. I was thinking of sending for a few. But I did see a face at that window,” and Natalie shook her pretty head vigorously to emphasize her words. “It was just as you spoke,” she went on, addressing Old Hanson.
“I wouldn’t be at all s’prised,” he admitted. “I’m sure there’s a hant here, and that’s why I’m movin’. I wouldn’t stay here another night.”
“Tell us more about it,” urged Mrs. Bonnell. “Maybe it can all be explained by natural causes. I never heard of a ghost yet, that couldn’t.”
“This ’un can’t!” declared the old hermit. “Sech groans an’ cries, an’ goin’s on! An’ cold winds sweeping over you ’fore you know what’s up.”
“Maybe you left a door open?” suggested Marie.
“No’m, I never do that. It’s the ghost—that’s what ’tis. Th’ mill is haunted. I’ve allers heard ’twas, but I never believed it until lately. Now, I’m goin’ to quit!”
The girls and the Guardian gathered closer together and watched the preparations to move on the part of Old Hanson. He had most of his household goods out of the shack next to the mill now. As he went back for something one of the horses started slightly.
“There it is! There it is!” suddenly cried the old hermit from within the shack. “It jest brushed past me! I felt a cold hand on the back of my neck! Oh, I’m a goner! I’m doomed. It’s the call of fate!”