better tell you about it—it might only worry you," he continued, thoughtfully.
But the boys wanted to hear the old man's story, and so they invited him to take dinner with them. During the meal he told his tale, which was certainly a curious one.
"The first of it happened day before yesterday," said Peter Peterson. "I was up to the very end of the lake, in a little cove, looking for wild turkeys. I was tired out and I rested against a tree and went into a doze. All at once I felt something cross my face. What it was I couldn't make out. I jumped up and just them I heard somebody cry out: 'I am dead! Who will bury me!' or something like that. I thought somebody was fooling me, and I called back: 'Who is there?' Then, as true as I am sitting here, I heard somebody in the air laugh at me! I called again, 'Who are you?' And the party, or ghost, or whatever it was answered: 'They murdered me! Who will bury me!' Then I got scared and leaped into my canoe and paddled away. When I was out on the lake I looked back into the woods, but I could not see a soul."
"Are you sure you weren't asleep and dreamed all that?" asked Snap.
"No, I was wide awake. But that isn't all.
