down there.”

“In Sycamore Hall?” Arden was surprised.

“No, not in the Hall, but in a little house near it. With my grandmother and sister. The Hall is soon going to be torn down to make way for a new road through this section. Jockey Hollow is going to be made into a national park on account of it being connected in many ways with the Revolution.”

“Oh, it is?” asked Arden, interested. This was news. But the truth of the matter was that though she and her chums knew, in a vague way, about Jockey Hollow, they had been, of late, so wrapped up in college life at Cedar Ridge, they had lost track of local matters.

Arden, suddenly occupied with guiding her horse, which evinced a desire to shy, did not pursue the subject with Dick. Through the trees she now caught a glimpse of the two-hundred-year-old mansion known as Sycamore Hall. There were many stories about it, one or two concerned with the more or less established fact that it still contained certain objects supposed to belong to the descendants of the original owners, whoever they were. No one now lived in the Hall, nor had it housed anyone for some time. In spite of its age, the old mansion, though woefully lacking paint, was well preserved. It was as strong and sturdy as some ancient oak tree.

Sim and Terry, in the lead, had approached Sycamore Hall and were waiting for Arden and Dick to reach them. The two girls gazed, not without interest, at the deserted mansion. There were evidences about it of some new and strange life. There were dump carts, but no horses, some piles of boards, and, near the drive, an old flivver that seemed impossible of being used.

From within the ancient mansion came dull blows, as of pounding, and out of some open windows floated a fine dust, like smoke.

“Is the place on fire?” asked Arden as she and Dick spurred their horses forward.

“No. But I guess they’ve already started to tear it down. A new road is going right through the old place.” Dick seemed to sigh a little.

“What a shame,” murmured Arden. “It’s too bad such a historic place can’t be preserved.”

“I guess it’s too old to preserve,” Dick said. “Though they are going to make a park of the Hollow and save some of the smaller houses that were used by Washington or Mad Anthony Wayne or some of the Revolutionary folks.”

“How interesting!” exclaimed Arden. “I wonder——”

But she never finished that sentence. Just at that moment something happened.

Two big Negroes, one carrying a crowbar and the other an ax, came fairly leaping out of the open front door of Sycamore Hall. They were mouthing something unintelligible and seemed to be rushing straight for Sim and Terry.

“Oh! Oh!” gasped Arden. “Oh, Dick, what is this?”

Straight for Sim ran the two Negroes, their ragged clothes white with plaster dust. They were still mumbling and waving their hands in a terrified way. This was too much for the nervous horse on which Sim was mounted. He reared sharply, nearly throwing the girl off, though she had a good seat, and then, wheeling, the beast ran wildly up the road past Sycamore Hall.

Terry managed to control her animal, though he too showed a desire to bolt.

“Oh, Dick!” cried Arden again.

“I’ll get her!” shouted the young groom, and spurring his mount he dashed away after Sim. Left to themselves, Arden and Terry looked at each other with frightened eyes. The two colored men ran into the woods across from the Hall, still mumbling in a strange way and showing every evidence of terrible fright.

“Come on, Terry, we’ve got to follow!” called Arden.

They urged their steeds after those of Sim and Dick. When they reached the top of the hill they could see that Sim was safe. Dick had dismounted and was holding her still frightened animal. Sim was soothing the creature with neck-pattings and calming words.

“Heavens, Sim! What happened?” gasped Arden.

“Those men scared Teddy, rushing at him that way, though why, I don’t know. I wonder what the idea was, having them dash out in that wild way? If I had been standing a little nearer they would have run right into Teddy and me! They couldn’t seem to turn off. They were wild with fright. But why?” Sim was a little indignant.

Dick smiled up at her. “Haven’t you heard?” he asked.

“Heard what?”

The other girls listened with interest.

“Why, this old place is said to have become suddenly haunted. Something in Sycamore Hall has stirred up the spirits of the departed owners, and more than once the Negroes and Italians hired to tear it down have been scared away—frightened stiff. A lot have quit. I understand the contractor has continually to get new men. And it looked as if those two who ran out saw something—or thought they did,” Dick concluded. “They probably won’t come back.”

“Haunted!” murmured Terry.

“Ghosts—Revolutionary ghosts,” whispered Sim.

“How thrilling!” exclaimed Arden. “Tell us some more, Dick.”

“Well——” began the groom, but he got no further.

Back up the hill came running the same two Negroes who had but a few minutes before rushed out of the mansion in such a terrified way. Their faces still bore signs of their fright.

CHAPTER II
The Ghost Mansion

Unable to understand what had caused the workmen to act as they had, and sensing the possibility of a further fright to the horses, Arden and her chums were about to wheel and ride away. But Dick called to them:

“Steady; I think it will be all right. These men don’t know what they’re doing. They are just frightened.”

“At what?” asked Arden.

“That’s what I’m going to try to discover,” said the young groom. Then, shouting to the running Negroes, he inquired:

“What’s the matter?”

“Don’t ask us, boss,” answered one, dubiously shaking his head. “We sho’ am finished on dat job! I never could abide t’ wuk in haunted houses!”

“Dat goes fo’ me, too!” echoed the other. “I don’t laik ghosts!”

Then they both ran on, disappearing into the woods.

“Ghosts!” laughed Terry after a moment of silence. “They’re just what we need to brighten up our lives.”

“Let’s go in the old mansion and look around,” proposed Arden.

“Have we time?” suggested Sim.

They glanced at Dick for his verdict.

“We have about half an hour,” he said, looking at his watch. “Go on in if you want to.”

When they urged their horses through the overgrown tangle that had once been a front yard and came to a stop near the big broad porch, the pillars of which were tilting, Dick helped the three girls to dismount. Then, leading the horses to a tree with conveniently low branches, he looped the reins so the animals would not stray. Horses in the East are not trained like their Western cousins, to stand if the reins are left to dangle on the ground.

The girls held back a little before going up the four steps at the entrance of the house. It was a combination Georgian-Colonial style, squarely built, with a beautiful fanlight still intact over the center door.

“It is spooky, isn’t it?” asked Sim with a pleased little shiver.

“Did you ever see such a sorrowful house, though?” Arden wanted to know.

“What do you mean, sorrowful? To me it seems very proud and stern,” Terry decided.

“I don’t think so. Look at the way the