stan's off by itself."

The man was going my way, evidently to begin his day's work,
for it was then early in the morning, and I walked along
with him.

"Folks say," he continued, "them grounds is full of hejious
reptyles, an' I've heerd fellers tell queer things they've
seen when passin' there at night--red lights a-flyin' about
an' spooks at the winders. An' one night, when Uncle Bill
Jemson was comin' down the turnpike, they was a storm come
up, an' jest as he got opposite the big iron gate they was a
flash a lightnin'--an' Bill says he see the ole man, his
long white hair a-flyin' in th' wind, an' a lion standin'
there in front a th' house. Th' flash was out'n a minit, an'
Bill whipped up his hosses an' sent em clear to Mills'
tavern on the dead run," said he, laughing as if it were a
good joke.

"They don't nobody like th' place ner th' man, though I don'
know why, fer no one's ever passed a word with him in these
parts. There 'tis, over yender with the pines around it an'
th' high wall," said he, pointing with his finger. But my
eye had already discovered the low-built rambling house on
the high banks of the river, well in the distance, and had
recognized it at once.

Leaving my companion at the next turn in the road I walked
hurriedly on, and when I had reached the big iron gate I
stopped and peered through it. A gravel roadway, now