it was,---but it didn't suit me," answered Peter Peterson. "But
maybe I hadn't better tell you about it---it might only worry you,"
he continued, thoughtfully.

But the boys wanted to hear the old man's story, and so they invited
him to take dinner with them. During the meal he told his tale,
which was certainly a curious one.

"The first of it happened day before yesterday," said Peter Peterson.
"I was up to the very end of the lake, in a little cove, looking for
wild turkeys. I was tired out and I rested against a tree and went
into a doze. All at once I felt something cross my face. What it
was I couldn't make out. I jumped up and just them I heard somebody
cry out: 'I am dead! Who will bury me!' or something like that. I
thought somebody was fooling me, and I called back: 'Who is there?'
Then, as true as I am sitting here, I heard somebody in the air
laugh at me! I called again, 'Who are you?' And the party, or
ghost, or whatever it was answered: 'They murdered me! Who will bury
me!' Then I got scared and leaped into my canoe and paddled away.
When I was out on the lake I looked back into the woods, but I could
not see a soul."

"Are you sure you weren't asleep and dreamed all that?" asked Snap.

"No, I was wide awake. But that isn't all. Early this morning I
was asleep over on the shore yonder, just where you can see that
blasted pine. It was, I think, about three o'clock, and quite
dark. I heard a cry and I sat up to listen. Then I heard the most
hideous laugh you can imagine. Then a voice called out again,
'I am dead! Come to my grave! He is dead! I am dead! He is