vening when four excited
adventurers set out from the Preston house. They carried dark lanterns,
while practical Phil had a package of lunch stored away out of sight.
She had an idea that sitting up all night in a forlorn, dirty old house
was not going to be half as much sport as enthusiastic Madge
anticipated.

The little captain was not the only enthusiast in the ghost party, which
was composed of herself, Phil, David and Miss Betsey. Miss Betsey Taylor
had cast from her the sobriety of years. She was as eager and as
interested in their midnight excursion as any young girl could have
been. Not that the pursuit of ghosts had been a secret passion of Miss
Betsey's. It was only that, at the age of sixty, she was at last
beginning to understand how it felt to be young, and she was as ready
for adventure as any other one of the party of young folks.

Indeed, she was far more eager than Lillian Seldon, who could not be
persuaded even to contemplate the thought of approaching the "ha'nted
house." Lillian insisted that it was her duty to stay at home with
Eleanor and Miss Jenny Ann.

No one had been told of the proposed trip except Mr. and Mrs. Preston.
The ghost party had no intention of allowing practical jokers in the
neighborhood to get up "fake spooks" for their entertainment. They were
seriously determined to find out why the ancient house was supposed to
be inhabited by spirits from another world, and whether David Brewster
had seen real ghosts during his visit to the house or only creatures of
his own imagination.

Miss Betsey clung tightly to David's arm as they made their way along
the dark road. The old lady wore a pale gray dress, with a soft real
lace collar around her neck. Recently the houseboat girls had persuaded
her to leave off her false side curls and to wave her hair a little over
her ears. No change of costume could make Miss Betsey a beauty, but she
was improved, and she did look a little less like an old maid. To-night
Miss Betsey had concealed her dress with a long, black macintosh cape,
which completely enveloped her. With her tall, spare form and her lean,
square shoulders Miss Betsey looked like a grenadier. On her head she
had tied, with a long gray veil, one of Jack Bolling's soft felt hats.

"Madge, if you keep on prattling such gruesome tales I shall turn back
and leave you to your fate," expostulated Phil, as she urged Madge along
behind David and their chaperon. "I know nothing will happ