of the old gateway, with the creeper twining over the pillars. Then he
caught a glimpse of the house, and he at once slackened his footsteps.

"No use rushing into this thing," he reasoned in a whisper. "Mark may
be in hiding, taking an observation of the mysterious man, and I don't
want to spoil it, by butting in. Guess I'll lie low for a while, and
see what develops."

Crouching down beside some bushes that lined the roadway Jack looked
toward the silent, tumbled-down house and waited. All was still.
Occasionally a shutter flapped in the wind, the hinges creaking
dismally, or some of the loose window-panes rattled as the sash was
blown to and fro. It was not a pleasant aspect, and as the afternoon
was waning, and the sun was going down, while a cool wind sprang up,
Jack was anything but comfortable in his place of observation.

And the one objection to it was that there was nothing to observe. Not
a sign of life was to be seen about the place, and the broken windows,
like so many unblinking eyes, stared out on the fields and road.

"Oh pshaw!" exclaimed Jack at length, "I'm not going to sit here this
way! I'm going up and take a look. It can't bite me, and if that man's
in there I can give him some sort of a talk that will make it look all
right. I'm going closer. Maybe Mark's inside there, waiting for me,
though it's queer why he didn't keep his agreement and wait for me at
the barn. Well, here goes."

Though he spoke bravely, it was not without a little feeling of
apprehension that Jack started toward the old mansion. He kept a close
watch for the advent of any person or persons who might be in the