Meanwhile Fred had decided that he would make some investigations of his own. His apparent lack of courage had reacted now and he was determined to do something which would enable him to redeem himself in the eyes of his companions.

Accordingly when his friends decided early in the afternoon that they would take the automobile and go to the country club for a game of tennis he excused himself on the plea that there were some other and very important matters to which he must attend.

It was a matter of self-denial for Fred to decline to join his companions in a visit to the country club. This place throughout the summer afternoons was one that was marked in the region. Crowds of young people assembled there and the tennis courts and golf links were occupied by people who were finding their vacation days passing all too rapidly in the beautiful region.

To the protests of his friends Fred refused to listen. Even the fact that his absence might prevent a game of tennis from being played did not appeal to him. He quietly and steadfastly adhered to his purpose.

Soon after luncheon he saw his friends depart, although the last words he heard were their calls for him to reconsider and join them.

Previous to their departure George called Fred into the library and in a low voice said to him, “Take my advice, lad, and don’t try it.”

“Don’t try what?” Fred inquired.

“You know what I mean.”

“I haven’t the least idea.”

“Well, then I tell you again that my advice to you is not to do it.”

“But I don’t know what you mean.”

“If you’ll think it over for two or three hours I’m sure you’ll find out,” declared George and he withdrew from the room.

George’s warning was still fresh in Fred’s mind when the boys no longer could be seen. He was still mystified by the strange warning. He was positive that he had not spoken to any of his friends concerning the project in his mind and therefore it was impossible that George could have heard any word of his plans.

Assured that his companions had departed, Fred soon afterward set forth on his solitary expedition. He had, however, not entered the road before he saw the automobile returning.

“What’s wrong?” he called as the car stopped in front of the long, winding driveway that led to the farmhouse, which was located back on the hillside.

“I went off without my tennis racquet,” explained George. “You have decided to come with us, haven’t you, Fred?

“No, I’m not going,” replied Fred.

“But you’re going somewhere,” said George. “What are you doing down here in the road if you’re not? I thought you had some very important matters which you had to attend to this afternoon?”

“I have,” and Fred refused to listen to the renewed pleadings of his friend, although he did not start on his way to the old Meeker House until once more the automobile had passed out of sight. He was suspicious as he walked on that George’s return for the racquet had been a pretense on his part. He was somewhat suspicious now that George believed he was about to go back to the old house, although what had given him that impression it was impossible for him to say.

On his journey Fred had taken with him the collie dog which belonged to George. The animal was unusually beautiful and its owner was exceedingly proud of it, as it had won a prize whenever he had exhibited it.

Delighted to be permitted to accompany Fred the intelligent animal expressed his pleasure in his own noisy and active manner.

It was not until Fred at last had arrived at the road in front of the old house that the collie displayed any uneasiness. When Fred turned in at the open gateway the dog, looking up into his face whined, and then apparently convinced that protests on his part were unavailing, turned and ran from the place.

Startled by the unexpected action Fred returned to the road and watched the dog as it fled swiftly homeward. A feeling of uneasiness crept over him despite his attempt to laugh. It was impossible for spooks to be found, he assured himself, on such a day. The afternoon sun, warm, and yet not unduly warm, was flooding the beautiful region with its beams. The fertile land, the attractive houses, even the woods back upon the hillside all seemed to be sharing in the absolute quiet that prevailed. Not a sound was to be heard save the noisy flights of the winged grasshoppers or the occasional unmusical sound which proclaimed the presence of locusts.

Determined to ignore the momentary impression which the unwillingness of the dog to accompany him into the old house had aroused, Fred once more turned toward the rear of the old building. A fallen grape-arbor on his right and the tangled mass of vines that grew along the ground showed how long it had been since the place had received any attention. There was an air of neglect and decay manifest wherever he looked. The passing boys had thrown stones or snowballs at the windows until only a few panes were left. The chimneys had crumbled in part, so that not one was standing in its original form. The grass was high and tangled and the shrubs in the yard were rank and overgrown. The place which manifestly at one time had been the abode of people who had given it every care and affection had now been forgotten.

And yet, was it really forgotten? Fred vividly recalled the experience of the preceding evening as he advanced toward the kitchen door. The door still was hanging upon its hinges and was only partly closed. Doubtless it had been left ajar by George in his exit the night before.

Fred stepped cautiously inside the building. The silence that followed for a time was unbroken. The very stillness itself produced its effect upon the boy and when he stopped and looked intently all about him, his heart was beating rapidly, although he assured himself there was no cause for fear.

Suddenly from the front room came a sound that was unusual and somewhat startling in the prevailing stillness. It was a sound not unlike that produced by a noisy rattler in the hands of a small boy. The noise, however, was forgotten, when, to Fred’s intense amazement, which included perhaps an element of alarm, he was startled by the sound of footsteps on the stairway.

Once more he assured himself that it was broad daylight. Again he recalled the statement which he had heard many a time that in such houses there was nothing to be feared except after the shades of night had fallen. He could plainly see the rays of the afternoon sun as they entered through the open window and fell across the floor of the room in which he was standing.

But the footsteps could not be denied. The sound became plainer. For an instant Fred glanced timidly toward the door and was strongly tempted to run from the place.

Before he started, however, the footsteps ceased, the old door at the foot of the stairway creaked upon its hinges and a moment later Fred saw standing before him a man, whose appearance proclaimed him to be a tramp.

The surprise was mutual, and for a moment the man and the boy stared blankly at each other. Fred suspected that the stranger doubtless had been sleeping in the upper room. Indeed the boy laughed in his relief as he was confident now that he had discovered the source of the strange sounds that had been heard the preceding evening.

“Hello, young man,” called the tramp in a low, guttural voice. “Did you come in here to wake me up? I told me valet not to call me until five o’clock.”

“No, I didn’t come in here to wake you up,” said Fred quietly.

“Maybe you come from the hospital?”

“No,” said Fred simply.

“I’m expecting somebody from the hospital.”

“What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

“Yes, I be. Leastwise, I’ve got some symptoms I don’t like.”

“Tell me what the trouble is,” suggested Fred good-naturedly. “Perhaps I can help you.”

“From the best I can find out I think I am threatened with hydrostatic internal spontaneous combustion.”

“It’s more likely your conscience,” laughed Fred.

“No, it isn’t my conscience. I can stick a pin in that and not flinch. No, it’s something else that’s the matter with me. I feel as if I were burning up inside.”

“You’re not going to get anything out of me,” laughed Fred, “to put out the fire.”

“That’s a pity,” said the tramp, who now seated himself quietly on the foot of the stairs. “That’s a pity. All I need is a nickel to stop that roaring flame. I’m suffering from another trouble too,” added the tramp.

“What’s that?”

“Overweariness of the flesh. I’ve had that for considerable time. It’s a great source of suffering. Still, I don’t know that either of those is quite as bad as something else.”

“What, have you got more troubles still?”

“Yes, I have.”

“What are they?”

“Well, the chief one is that I’m an orphan. There isn’t any home waiting for little Willie.” The man shook his head in mock pathos and Fred laughed heartily. “I have consulted specialists,” began the tramp once more, “but I don’t find any one to relieve me. The last man I went to said he thought the best thing he could prescribe would be for me to go out in the country where I could breathe fresh air and not have to endure hard labor.”

“What were you doing, breaking stone?” laughed Fred.

For a moment the tramp glared upon the lad, but a moment later he said good-naturedly, “If I thought you knew what that meant I would give you something to make you remember this visit a long time. No, my great trouble is that I’m too ardent an American. I insist upon seeing my own country. I have been going to and fro, wandering up and down the land—”

“You’re not the only one,” broke in Fred. “It seems to me I’ve heard about another individual who is going about like a roaring lion.”

“Why don’t you come in and sit down,” suggested the tramp, apparently ignoring Fred’s last suggestion. “Ever been in this old house before?”

“Once.”

“When was that?”

“Last night.”

“How long did you stay?”

“I don’t remember. We left in such a hurry,” said Fred somewhat ruefully.

“Oh, you found the spooks, did you?”

“We heard some strange noises. The strangest of all was that some one called my name.”

“Oh, that’s not strange,” declared the tramp lightly. “I’ve been in this house hundreds of times. I have heard my name called and never flinched once. Sometimes the constable calls it and sometimes somebody else, but it doesn’t make any difference; I never answer. If you’d like to look through the old house I’ll show you around.”