One of Zene's stories became vivid. It was a story of a house where
nobody could stay, though the landlord offered it rent-free. But
along came two good youths without any money, and for board and
lodging, they undertook to break the spell by sleeping there three
nights. The first two nights they were not disturbed, and sat with
their candle, reading good books until after midnight. But the third,
just on the stroke of twelve, a noise began in the cellar! So they
took their candle, and, armed with nothing except good books, went
below, and in the furthest corner they saw a little old man with a
red nightcap on his head, sitting astride of a barrel! In Zene's
story the little old man only had it on his mind to tell these good
youths where to dig for his money; and when they had secured the
money, he amiably disappeared, and the house was pleasant to live in
ever afterward.

This tale, heard in the barn while Zene was greasing harnesses, and
heard without Grandma Padgett's sanction, now made her grandson
shiver with dread as his feet went down into the Susan House dungeon.
It was trying enough to be exploring a strange cellar full of groans,
without straining your eyes in expectation of seeing a little old man
in a red nightcap, sitting astride of a barrel!

"Who's there?" said Grandma Padgett with stern emphasis, as she held
her beacon stretched out into the cellar.

The groaning ceased for an awful space of time. Aunt Corinne was
behind her nephew, and she squatted on the step to peer with
distended eyes, lest some hand should reach up and grab her by the
foot.