“Where is he?” demanded Thankful. “Where's he gone to?”
“Hello there, John!” cried a voice from the darkness at the rear of the pigsty under the kitchen. “Come in here. Never mind your clothes. Come in.”
John vaulted over the rail of the pen and disappeared. A few moments later he came out again in company with the captain. Both were laughing heartily.
“We've got the answer,” puffed Captain Obed, who was out of breath. “We've laid the ghost. You remember I told you that day when we first explored this place that old Laban Eldredge had this pigpen built. Afore that 'twas all potato cellar, and at one time afore the house was made over there must have been a stove in that back bedroom. There's no chimney, but there's cracks between the boards at the back of that pigpen and any noise down here goes straight up between the walls and out of that stovepipe hole like a speakin' tube. You heard me when I spoke to you just now, didn't you?”
“Yes—yes,” answered Emily. “We heard you, but—but what was it that snored? What was the ghost?”
Captain Obed burst into a shout of laughter. “There he is,” he said, pointing.
Thankful and Emily looked.
“What?” cried the latter.
“The PIG?” exclaimed Thankful.
“That's what. Georgie gave me a hint when he and I was out here just now. Old Pat was asleep way in back there and snorin' like a steam engine. And Georgie said he never slept there unless 'twas a storm, rainin' same as 'tis now. And every time you heard the—ho! ho!—the ghost, 'twas on a stormy night. It stormed the night you got here, and when Becky Timpson had her warnin', and last night when Sol Cobb got his. Ho! ho! ho! Patrick Henry's the ghost. Well, he's a healthy old spirit.”