of a garden to the roadway. He espied Songbird coming along, driving the team rapidly and singing to himself. Songbird had passed an all-too-short hour with Minnie Sanderson.
"Stop, Powell!" cried the professor.
"I was going to, sir," answered the would-be poet cheerily. "How is this, Professor Blackie? Did you come to hunt for the ghost, too?"
"Ghost? I came for no ghosts—since there are no ghosts," was the quiet answer. "Were you to stop here?"
"Yes, sir, to pick up the three Rovers and Stanley Browne. They must be somewhere about. They came to explore the old house and to settle this ghost story."
"I think they came more for spirits than for ghosts," answered Professor Blackie dryly. "Then you know all about it, eh?"
"Why, yes."
"Then you knew they came here to drink and to carouse generally," went on the instructor, and his voice grew stern.
"Drink? Carouse? What are you talking about?" gasped Songbird. "The Rovers don't drink at all, and Stanley Browne drinks very little."
"Of course you wish to shield them, but it will do little good, Powell. Professor Sharp re-
