“But how did you find the way?” asked Mollie, wondering a little at his embarrassment.
“I asked it,” he replied, “of a Gypsy.”
“Oh, really?” cried Mollie. “And did she tell you?”
“It was not a woman,” went on José. “It was a man.”
“And did he know the way? Because they told us they did not, perhaps because they didn’t want to be disturbed so late in the evening.”
“Perhaps,” said José, and changed the subject by asking Stephen whose was the large estate they were now approaching. It was that of a famous millionaire, and their attention was for the moment distracted. José seemed to breath a sigh of relief and engaged Mollie in conversation for the rest of the ride, telling her about his own country, the bull fights and carnivals and a hundred other things of interest until the little girl had quite forgotten his confusion at the mention of the damaged bridge.
On the way back the automobiles turned into the wooded road, but before they reached the Gypsy camp they turned again into another road pointed out by Martin in the first car. The road led directly through the forest to the haunted pool, where the automobiles drew up. The pool, in the late afternoon sunlight, was more enchanting than ever.
“This is a famous spot in the neighborhood,” observed the major. “When I was a boy it was the scene of many a picnic and frolic. People in these parts were more neighborly in those days. The girls and boys used to meet and ride in wagons or on horseback over here. We ate our luncheons on this mossy bank; then strolled about in couples until dark and drove home by moonlight.”
“The Gypsy girl told us it was really haunted, Major,” said Ruth. “She even said she had seen the ghost.”
“Indeed,” replied the major, looking up a little startled, “and what sort of ghost was it?”