'Twasn't till to-day that one of the village people, the woman at the general shop and post office, let on that Wyndfell Hall was well known to be a ghosty place." There was a pause, and then Pegler added: "Still, as you and I well know, ma'am, tales don't lose nothing in the telling." "Indeed they don't! Never mind what the people in the village say.

This kind of strange, lonely, beautiful old house is sure to be said to be haunted.

What _I_ want to know is what _you_ think you saw, Pegler--" The speaker looked sharply into the woman's face.
"I don't like to see you standing, ma'am," said Pegler inconsequently.
"If you'll sit down in your chair again I'll tell you what happened to me." Miss Farrow sank gracefully down into her deep, comfortable chair.
Again she put out her feet to the fire, for it was very cold on this 23rd of December, and she knew she had a tiring, probably a boring, evening before her.

Some strangers of whom she knew nothing, and cared less, excepting that they were the friends of her friend and host, Lionel Varick, were to arrive at Wyndfell Hall in time for dinner.

It was now six o'clock.
"Well," she said patiently, "begin at the beginning, Pegler.