l we had reached the edge of a
branch crossing the road, when she stopped short.

"Why did you stop, Julius?" I asked.

"I didn', suh," he replied. "'T wuz de mare stop'. G' 'long dere, Lucy!
W'at you mean by dis foolis'ness?"

Julius jerked the reins and applied the whip lightly, but the mare did
not stir.

"Perhaps you had better get down and lead her," I suggested. "If you get
her started, you can cross on the log and keep your feet dry."

Julius alighted, took hold of the bridle, and vainly essayed to make the
mare move. She planted her feet with even more evident obstinacy.

"I don't know what to make of this," I said. "I have never known her to
balk before. Have you, Julius?"

"No, suh," replied the old man, "I nebber has. It's a cu'ous thing ter
me, suh."

"What's the best way to make her go?"

"I 'spec's, suh, dat ef I'd tu'n her roun' she'd go de udder way."

"But we want her to go this way."

"Well, suh, I 'low ef we des set heah fo' er fibe minutes, she'll sta't
up by herse'f."

"All right," I rejoined, "it is cooler here than any place I have struck
to-day. We'll let her stand for a while, and see what she does."

We had sat in silence for a few minutes, when Julius suddenly
ejaculated, "Uh huh! I knows w'y dis mare doan go. It des flash 'cross
my reccommemb'ance."

"Why is it, Julius?" I inquired.

"Ca'se she sees Chloe."

"Where is Chloe?" I demanded.

"Chloe's done be'n dead dese fo'ty years er mo'," the old man returned.
"Her ha'nt is settin' ober yander on de udder side er de branch, unner
dat willer tree, dis blessed minute."

"Why, Julius!" said my wife, "do you see the haunt?"

"No'm," he answered, shaking his head, "I doan see 'er, but de mare sees
'er."

"How do you know?" I inquired.

"Well, suh, dis yer is a gray hoss, en dis yer is a Friday; en a gray
hoss kin alluz see a ha'nt w'at walks on Friday."

"Who was Chloe?" said Mabel.

"And why does Chloe's haunt walk?" asked my wife.

"It's all in de tale, ma'am," Julius replied, with a deep sigh. "It's
all in de tale."

"Tell us the tale," I said. "Perhaps, by the time you get through, the
haunt will go away and the mare will cross."

I was willing to humor the old man's fancy. He had not told us a
story for some time; and the dark and solemn swamp around us; the
amber-colored stream flowing silently and sluggishly at our feet, like
the waters of Lethe; the heavy, aromatic scent of the bays, faintly
suggestive of