After replying to what he said, I asked the old gentleman if he knew any
legend or stories about the old houses all around us.

"Yes, many of them," he replied; "and it isn't always the old places
that have the most stories about 'em.

"Why, that cottage down yonder isn't more'n fifty years old, and they do
say there's been a lot of ghosts seen there, owin' to a man's killin' of
himself in the back bed-room."

"What! that house at the end of the lane?" I asked, with sudden
interest.

"Just so; nice place, but lonesome and dampish. Ghosts and toadstools
are apt to locate in houses of that sort," was his mild reply.

The dampness scared me more than the ghosts, for I had never seen a
ghost yet; but I had been haunted by rheumatism, and found it a hard
thing to get rid of.

"I've taken a room there, so I'm rather interested in knowing what
company I'm to have."

"Taken a room, have you? Well, I dare say you won't be troubled. Some
folks have a knack of seeing spirits, and then again some haven't.

"My wife is uncommon powerful that way, but I an't; my sight's dreadful
poor for that sort."

There was such a sly look in the starboard eye of the old fellow as he
spoke, that I laughed outright, and asked, sociably--

"Has she ever seen the ghosts of the cottage? I think I have rather a
knack that way, and I'd like to know what to expect."

"No, her sort is the rapping kind. Down yonder, the only ghost I take
much stock in is old Bezee Tucker's. Some folks say they've heard him
groaning there nights, and a dripping sound; he bled to death, you know.

"It was kept quiet at the time, and is forgotten now by all but a few
old fellows like me. Bezee was always polite to the ladies, so I guess
he won't bother you, ma'am;" and the old fellow laughed.

"If he does, I'll let you know;" and with that I left him, for I was
called and told that the beach party was anxious for my company.

In the delights of that happy hour, I forgot the warning of the old
gentleman on the hill, for I was about to taste a clam for the first
time in my life, and it was a most absorbing moment.

Perched about on the rocks like hungry birds, we sat and watched the
happy cooks with breathless interest, as they struggled with
frying-pans, fish that refused to brown, steaming sea-weed, and hot
ashes.

Little Margie Grant waited upon me so prettily, that I should have been
tempted to try a sea porcupine if she had offered it, so charming wa