“The sun went down in a great pile of clouds. Looks very much as if a storm were brewing.”
“’Bout time for one,” replied the landlady. “I kind o’ feel it in my bones. Not that I’m at all superstitious, only maybe it’s rheumatism.”
“Superstitious?” remarked Val, maliciously. “Mr. Brayton, do you believe in ghosts?”
Brayton had heard all that there was to hear about the village legends, and he was just “boy” enough to answer:
“Can’t say, Val; but I never saw one.”
“Or heard one?” asked Bar.
“No, nor heard one,” said Brayton; “but I believe I should like to.”
“Ghosts!” exclaimed Mrs. Wood. “I s’pose it was ghosts that tied poor Dr. Dryer’s dun heifer to the bell rope.”
“Exactly,” said Brayton. “That’s the kind I imagine there are more of than any other. All very good ghosts till they are found out.”
“They haven’t found out that one,” said Val.