"Well, dang 'em!" said Mr. Crow impressively.
"We was skatin' in the marsh when we heerd 'em plain as day," said the
other boy. "You bet I'm nuvver goin' nigh that house ag'in."
"Sho! Bud, they ain't no sech thing as ghosts," said Mr. Crow; "it's
tramps."
"You know that house is ha'nted," protested Bud. "Wasn't ole Mrs. Rank
slew there by her son-in-law? Wasn't she chopped to pieces and buried
there right in her own cellar?"
"Thunderation, boy, that was thirty year ago!"
"Well, nobody's lived in the ha'nted house sence then, has they? Didn't
Jim Smith try to sleep there oncet on a bet, an' didn't he hear sech
awful noises 'at he liked to went crazy?" insisted Bud.
[Illustration: The haunted house]
"I _do_ recollect that Jim run two mile past his own house before he
could stop, he was in sech a hurry to git away from the place. But Jim
didn't _see_ anything. Besides, that was twenty year ago. Ghosts don't
hang aroun' a place when there ain't nothin' to ha'nt. Her son-in-law
was hung, an' she ain't got no one else to pester. I tell you it's
tramps."
"Well, we just thought we'd tell you, Mr. Crow," said the first boy.
In a few minutes it was known throughout the business centre of
Tinkletown that tramps were making their home in the haunted house down
the river, and that Anderson Crow was to ride forth on his bicycle to
rout them out.
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