fowl that the outlying farms afforded. Tom appointed himself a
committee of one to supply the company to which he and his friends
belonged. He had exhausted most of the well-known haunts about camp,
and was in the habit of going off on long tramps to find the coveted
fruit.

One evening toward dusk Tom was sauntering along a quiet country road
hunting for apples. In the course of his wanderings he came upon a
well laden tree standing on the grounds of a neglected estate. Far
back amongst the trees was the deserted mansion-house, looking
desolate and forbidding in the rays of the sinking sun.

About this old place many stories clung of mystery and violent death.
From the time of its erection by a runaway nobleman the families who
had unfortunately occupied it had either left in extreme haste and
terror for some far removed section of the country, or had met with
foul play at the hands of a band of Gypsies, who appeared in the
neighborhood only when a new occupant moved into the fated homestead.
The last family that had lived there had suddenly left the house one
night. Two grown up sons, however, returned and told the inquisitive
farmers that although their folks had been frightened away, they
proposed to remain until they had solved the mystery of the place.
This perhaps they did the next night, but they both paid for their
curiosity with their lives, for the neighbors found their bodies
suspended from the upper floor over the Main Stairway. Since this last
fatality, the house had been deserted, its bad name growing with each
recounting of its dark history.

A little youngster scarce four years old, was playing under the tree.
Tom helped himself to some apples as was his wont, and speaking