He beamed on the girls as though he had proposed the most delightful sort of an affair.
"A—a haunted house!" faltered Amy.
"That's it—a regular haunted house—groans, slamming doors—queer lights, and all that sort of thing."
"Where—where is it?" asked Betty.
"In Shadow Valley."
Instinctively the four girls started.
"Why, we—we were near there the other day," said Mollie. "We didn't see any house that appeared to be haunted, though."
"No, and that's just it," went on Mr. Lagg. "You see it's only recently been haunted, and that makes it all the worse."
"Tell us about it," suggested Betty. "Girls, this is getting interesting. We must take this in on our tour."
"Don't!" pleaded Amy, the timid one, shivering in spite of herself.
"You know that old mansion, at the far end of the valley; don't you?" asked Mr. Lagg. "At least, you must have heard about it."
"You mean Kenyon's Folly?" responded Mollie, who began to have a glimmering of what was meant.
"Yes," answered the storekeeper. "Mr. Kenyon, who was once a millionaire, built that man-
