the weight of years which he carried and his trembling limbs showed how much he had suffered from the “mis’ry.” Indeed, the boys had become convinced that there was no topic concerning which the old man loved to talk as he did concerning his various aches and pains.

In spite of his afflictions, however, Uncle Sim was a warm friend of the boys. When they got into mischief Uncle Sim’s face was lifted heavenward so that he was unable to see any of the pranks they committed and therefore was unable to impart any information when he was asked as to his knowledge of their deeds. He was a great favorite of the boys and many of his stories had been familiar to them from their earliest childhood. He knew why the red squirrel and the black hated each other so intensely. He was well informed concerning the perpetual warfare that existed between the dogs and cats on the farm. The call of the bluejays was in a language which Uncle Sim claimed to understand. And although he did not talk back to the chattering jays, nevertheless he strongly believed that they were much more guarded in their conversations when he was nearby.

“You go ask Uncle Sim if the house is haunted,” repeated George. “He’ll tell you what he thinks and you won’t have to wait very long for him to do it, either.”

“Has he never been there?” asked Fred.

“You’d better ask him,” declared George.

“What do you honestly think about it yourself, George?” said Grant more seriously.

“I don’t know just what to think. I haven’t been there since—”

“Since when?” spoke up John encouragingly.

“Since the last time I was there.”

“When was that?”

“That time I was telling you about when I ran in there to get out of the rain.”

“Will you go back there now if we’ll go?” challenged Fred.

“I don’t mind going,” said George, “but I don’t believe we’ll have time this afternoon.” His three companions laughed derisively and so aroused his spirit that he said brusquely, “That’s all right, fellows. I’ll go back there as soon as any one of you will go.”

“All right, sir,” called John. “Stop your car, and we’ll all of us go back to the old Meeker House and find out if what you have been telling us is true.”

“Who ever heard,” broke in Grant, “of ghosts walking around in the daytime? The time for us to go there is when the ghosts are showing up well.”

“You didn’t tell us, George, what the ghosts were?”

“No, I didn’t see them,” replied George.

“What do they say they are?”

“Why, the common report is, that ever since the days of the Revolution the ghosts of the Cowboys and Skinners have made their headquarters in the old Meeker House and whenever there’s a night that is especially dark or there is a particularly heavy storm, then they come there and join in the racket.”

“Cowboys?” demanded John. “What do you mean? Those fellows that drive the cattle out on the plains?”

“No, sir, I mean the men who lived in this part of the country when Washington was fighting for the independence of the United States. But even if they did live here they wouldn’t help him. They said they didn’t belong to either side, but the Cowboys usually took advantage of both sides. When the men were away from home they would go into a house, if they thought there was any money hidden in some old stocking, and they would take the women and hold their feet out over the fire until they told where the money was.”

“What were the Skinners?” inquired John.

“Why, they were about the same kind of men, the only difference being that the Cowboys took the families of the patriots, while the Skinners paid their first attention to the Tory families. I guess it didn’t make much difference to either party as long as they found some money or could get any valuables.”

“What did they put up with such things for?”

“They had to put up