The Outdoor Girls in a Motor Car; Or, The Haunted Mansion of Shadow Valley

CHAPTER V

PAUL AT THE WHEEL

The girls looked back at the old peddler as they swept on. He was standing beside his horse, evidently mending some part of the harness.

"It was rather a dilapidated outfit," remarked Betty. "I don't see how he can cover much ground in a day."

"Probably he doesn't," answered Mollie. "He may sleep in his wagon, eat there—dining on bread and cheese or herring—and so reduce the high cost of living. Then he may make a big profit on his hair restorer. Ugh! The stuff! I could not bear to use it."

"Nor I; and yet he had nice hair."

"Perhaps he'd have that anyhow. He meant it well enough—offering us the bottle."

"Yes," agreed Betty. "But it was just as well not to take it. My! what a day of adventures this has been!"

"It has started in almost the way some days did when we were on our tramp," spoke Grace, from the tonneau.

"Or when we were at the lake, trying not to be afraid of the 'ghost'," added Amy. "Do you intend to do any more cruising this fall, Betty?"

"We may. Would you like it?"

"Would we?" cried Grace, "just ask us!"

"Now please wait," broke in Mollie. "I may have a little plan of my own to propose soon."

"What is it?" begged Amy.

"I haven't it all worked out yet. I'll tell you as soon as I have. It may offer us a chance for some fun——"

"And adventures?" asked Betty, quickly.

"And adventures," assented Mollie. "But one thing I do want, and that is to have each of you girls run the car. I don't want to be selfish and drive all the while."

"I would like to learn," said Betty, eagerly. "It's good of you to want us to, Mollie."

"No, I have rather a selfish motive back of it. Sometimes I want to sit in the tonneau and not have to worry about running over a dog——"

"Look out!" suddenly cried Betty, impulsively grasping Mollie's arm. "That child!"

A little toddler had run from the yard of a house near the road, and was scampering across the highway, his mother in close pursuit.

Quickly Mollie put on both brakes, and threw out the clutch, but there was no need; for the child, with the perverseness of youth, had turned and was running back toward the gate, evidently frightened by the frantic tooting of the horn, the bulb of which Mollie pressed spasmodically.

"Oh my! What a scare!" panted Mollie, as she slipped in low gear, and started up again, without coming to a full stop.

"Well, I don't want to seem mean, but he is getting just what he deserves," said Grace, looking back, "and that is—a spanking. Toddlers must be made to learn the danger of rushing blindly across auto roads."

"I suppose so," agreed Mollie. "I could just see little Paul then," she went on. "If I had hit that child——"

She did not finish, but they all knew what she meant.

Deepdale was reached without further incident, and the girls agreed that Mollie had piloted her car wonderfully well for a beginner.

"Of course I've got lots to learn," she said to her chums, "but that will come gradually, the demonstrator said. One learns, after a while, to steer instinctively, and to do everything almost automatically—like slowing down, applying the brakes and so on. Now you girls must come over to-night, and we'll——"

"Talk!" interrupted Amy. "We've got lots to talk about."

"We always have," said Grace, looking in vain for a chocolate. The car had stopped in front of her house, and Mollie had said she would leave the other girls at their residences.

"Oh, don't bother," Betty had protested. "You must be tired, and it's only a step."

"No, we must do this in style!" decided Mollie. "What is the use of a motor car if one can't bring one's friends home in the proper mode?" And she had her way.

The auto was to be kept in a public garage until Mrs. Billette could have one built on her own premises, and, leaving her machine with the man in charge, Mollie walked home.

That night her three chums called, and the talk was almost entirely devoted to the strange girl and her queer disappearance.

In the days that followed the four inseparables took many rides out into the beautiful country around Deepdale. True to her determination, Mollie insisted on Betty, Amy and Grace taking at least a few lessons. Betty was quick to learn, but Grace was not quite strong enough to handle the wheel properly, and Amy was too timid. Still, either of the latter could manage the car on a straight, level road, but Betty was the only one who persisted enough to be able to get a license, which she one day took out on Mollie's suggestion.

"And what is the something you were going to tell us?" asked Betty of Mollie one day, as they were returning from a short run, Betty at the wheel.

"Oh, it isn't quite ready yet," she said. "I'll tell you in plenty of time to prepare for it, though. Mind your wheel, Bet, there are two cars coming back of us, and I think they're going to pass us close."

"Well, let them look out, I'm on the right side of the road."

Two cars, scorching, did pass them, throwing up a cloud of dust that caused the girls to gasp choke.

"Horrid creatures!" cried Grace. "My new cloak will be spoiled!" and she dusted off the auto garment she had recently purchased.

"It is such as they who give all autoists a bad name," remarked Mollie. "One rule of our club must be never to scorch."

"Our club?" asked Grace, wonderingly.

"There—I've told part of my secret!" exclaimed Mollie, in some confusion. "I was going to suggest that, as we have a sort of informal Camping and Tramping Club, and as there is a kind of motor boat club feeling existing among us, we form an auto club."

"Let's!" proposed Amy. "Bet has the boat, you have the car, Mollie, but poor Grace and I——"

"That doesn't make a bit of difference!" broke in Mollie. "You don't have to have an auto to belong to this club. Just as when you get your airship, Grace, we'll join your aero club; though you'll be the only one with a flying machine."

"No flies for me!" said Grace, determinedly.

They reached Mollie's house rather early that afternoon, not having gone far.

"Do come in for a cup of tea," urged Mollie. "It will refresh you all. No, no, Paul!" she called to her brother, "you must not get in sister's auto when she is not in it," for the little fellow had started to climb up in the front seat as the girls strolled toward the house.

"Oo dot any tandy?" he asked, coming toward them.

"Oh dear, I wonder if I will always have to bribe you, Paul?" sighed Mollie. "Grace, will you kindly oblige again? I guess I shall have to appoint you official candy distributor."

"That would suit me," laughed Grace. "Here, Paul, and don't get that on your suit—the chocolate is so sticky and messy in warm weather," and Grace daintily removed, with the tip of her tongue, some brown spots from the ends of her rosy fingers that had passed the candy to the little boy.

The girls were sipping tea in the library, and talking, when there came from out in front the sudden throbbing of an auto motor. Mollie leaped up and rushed to the window. Then she screamed:

"Oh girls! Paul is in my car and it's running away with him! Oh, stop him, some one!"

They all saw little Paul—a mite in the seat—holding bravely to the steering wheel, and the car moving down the hill in front of the Billette home.

CHAPTER VI

A TOUR PROPOSED

Betty was the first to rush from the house. She was closely followed by Grace, who seemed to rise to the emergency in a manner not usual.

"Can we stop him? Can we stop him?" cried Mollie, over and over again, as she clung to Amy and hurried on after Betty and Grace. "Oh, if mother were to see him now!"

"Perhaps we can reach him in time," suggested Amy, consolingly. "Don't worry, Mollie."

"Oh, whatever possessed him to do a thing like that? I have told him time and again never to get into the car alone."

The four girls ran swiftly across the lawn—yes, swiftly, for no such creations as "hobble skirts" hindered them. Fortunately Mrs. Billette, whose French nature was easily excited had not seen the happening. Dodo was out with the maid.

"Paul! Paul!" cried Mollie. "Put on the brake! Stop the car!"

"It doesn't seem to be going very fast," panted Betty, as she kept on beside Grace.

"He hasn't thrown in the gear—that's one good thing," exclaimed Grace. "He doesn't know how——"

She paused, for from the car came a laugh of childish delight, and a change in the sound of the motor told that something new had occurred.

"He has the gear in now!" cried Betty.

She was running diagonally across the lawn, trying to intercept the car. In her mind it was plain what had happened.

Paul had, with the impishness of childhood, climbed up in the auto. It was a simple matter to even blunder on pushing the button that would set the self-starter in operation. The car had been left standing on a level bit of road, but, just ahead of it, was a rather steep slope. Mollie had neglected to leave the emergency brake set, and when the motor started there was vibration enough to send the car over the little space that separated it from the slope. Then it simply rolled down. That was what had happened first.

But now had entered a new complication.

It seemed that Paul had a tricycle, worked by foot pedals and hand levers, and he was quite expert in its use. He had now put into practice what had been told him about his toy, and had added his observations of Mollie's operation of her car.

After starting the motor Paul had somehow managed to slip in the low gear, and the marvel of it was that he knew enough to disengage the clutch while he did this. Afterward he told how he had heard the demonstrator impress many times on Mollie the need of doing so.

"Oh, we'll never get him now!" cried Mollie, as she realized that the auto was moving under power now, and not merely by momentum. "Oh, Paul!"

The child was actually steering—the girls could see that, for the auto swerved in and out, narrowly missing the curbstone, as he turned and twisted the wheel too much.

"Paul! Paul!" cried his sister. "Stop it! Stop it!"

But Paul only laughed. He was having too much fun to want to stop.

It was hopeless for the girls to try to catch the auto now. They were far behind it, but still Betty ran on. Several narrow escapes had Paul on that perilous journey, and then in the nick of time he was saved from what might have been a serious accident.

Up the road was coming a racing car, going at high speed. The man, crouched almost under the steering wheel, if he saw Mollie's car at all, probably imagined that a motorist of experience was guiding it. But Paul was on the wrong side of the road, and there was no telling at what moment he might shift the course.

Then, riding like the wind, out from behind the racing car shot a bicyclist. At the sight of him Mollie screamed:

"Will—Will Ford! Save Paul! He's in my car—there ahead of you!"

Will Ford was riding directly toward Paul. In an instant Grace's brother had sensed the situation. Skillfully going around the racing car, which had fortunately slackened speed as the driver evidently realized that something was wrong, Will guided his wheel toward Mollie's auto.

Then he turned, so as to ride in the direction in which it was advancing, with ever-increasing speed. Will gauged his progress to that of the car, rode up alongside the run-board, and, in another instant, kicked his wheel from under him and was at Paul's side. In another second he had snapped off the power and applied the brakes.

"What for oo 'top me widing?" demanded Paul, rather indignantly.

Will's heart was beating fast, and he panted for breath, but he managed to answer:

"Too bad, Paulie, but you haven't any license to drive a car, you know, and a policeman might take you."

"Yes?"

"Sure. You mustn't do it again," and Will's voice was sufficiently stern.

"All wight—I won't. But I tan wun a tar, all'e same; tan't I?"

Paul was evidently proud of what he had done.

"Yes, you can, but you mustn't—you mustn't! Do you understand?"

"Yes. Dot any tandy?"

Will laughed.

"No," he said, "but maybe the girls have. Here they come."

Half hysterical, Mollie and her chums came running up. They were all rather "limp," as they confessed later.

"Oh, Paul, you naughty boy!" cried his sister. "Mamma will punish you for this."

His big eyes opened wide.

"I ikes to run tar," he said, and his lip quivered.

"Don't be too harsh with him," murmured Grace.

"I can't help it—he must know how dangerous it is," insisted Mollie. "You won't ever do it again; will you, Paul?"

"Nope. Dot any tandy?"

Their laughter relieved their strained feelings.

"Oh, Will, I can't thank you enough!" declared Mollie. "I thought I would die when I saw that racing car coming toward him."

"I just saw him in time," exclaimed Will. "I had to act quickly, for there was no telling when he'd try to cross the street."

Paul was contentedly chewing a candy Grace had produced and the little crowd that had gathered, on seeing Will's act, began to disperse, understanding what had happened. Then Mollie, assuming the wheel, directed the car back to her house, taking the girls and Paul in it. Will went back to get his bicycle and the excitement was over. But it took some time for the girls to quiet down.

To impress on him the danger of what he had done, Mrs. Billette sent Paul to bed. He cried and protested, but it was necessary, for he was too daring a little chap.

Three days passed. The girls were at Mollie's house, having assembled in answer to her telephone message.

"Well, it's all settled!" she exclaimed, as the trio came in together.

"What?" asked Betty.

"Our auto tour. That's what I've been working on. I wanted to plan a nice route—one that would take in a good stretch of country, enable us to see new places, and be comfortable. Now I have it all mapped out. You'll come; won't you—all of you?" and she looked appealingly at her chums.

"But what's it all about?" asked Grace, wonderingly.

"Why, since I have a car, we must get the best use out of it we can. So why can't we four—and a chaperone, if we think we need one—go for a tour, the same as when we walked—only this time we'll ride? We can make five hundred, or a thousand, miles, if we choose, stopping over night in different places. Won't it be fun?"

"Jolly!" cried Amy.

"Scrumptious!" was Betty's contribution.

"Mollie, you're a dear!" declared Grace, with a hug. "When can we go?"

"Soon now. I think——" A maid knocked at the door.

"Yes; what is it?" asked Mollie.

"If you please, Miss Billette, there's a gentleman to see you."

"A gentleman?"

"Yes, rather elderly, and he keeps making up verses, Miss. I'm not sure about him. Will you see him?"

"Verses? Oh, it must be that dear old Mr. Lagg—the storekeeper!" exclaimed Mollie. "Of course I'll see him. But, girls, what do you imagine he wants?"

CHAPTER VII

MR. LAGG'S OFFER

With a broad smile on her face, the maid came back, escorting Mr. Lagg, who, at the sight of the girls, bowed low, and declaimed:

"Good!" cried Betty, clapping her hands until the palms were rosy. "We are indeed glad to see you."

"Of course," added Mollie. "How could you leave your store long enough to run down here, Mr. Lagg?"

"Well, it is running a risk," he answered, as he took a chair Amy set out for him. "But I have important business down here, so I though I'd call. I worked out that little verse on the way down," he confided to the girls.

"You are extending your range," remarked Grace, who was languidly eating chocolates. "That is, your poetry is getting more elaborate."

"It is indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Lagg, brightening up on hearing this praise. "I am glad you noticed that. Yes, I am gradually getting it better, and on a higher plane. That is what worried me about leaving my store alone."

"Did you leave it all alone?" asked Betty, for the girls knew he did quite a trade with the summer colonists of Rainbow Lake.

"Practically so," was the answer. "I have a boy I hire occasionally, but he hasn't the least talent in the line of poetry, and I know my customers will miss that. However, they will have to put up with it for a few hours. I am going back as soon as I can.

"Perhaps," he added, cautiously, "I should never have worked up my versifying talent; but, somehow, I just couldn't seem to help it. I started in a modest way, just as I did in my store, and it seemed to grow of itself. Now my customers have come to look for it, and I know if Johnnie—that's the boy I spoke of as being left in charge—I know he'll rhyme the wrong words—that is, if he attempts anything at all, which he is likely to do. And nothing displeases a customer more than to listen to wrong rhymes; don't you think so?" and he appealed to the chums.

"Of course," assented Mollie, with a look at the others to ask their opinion as to what Mr. Lagg had in view, and what his object could be in calling.

The storekeeper appeared to be nervous, and ill at ease, and it was evident that he had attired himself with care for the trip.

He was obviously uncomfortable in his "Sunday-go-to-meetin'" suit, and a stiff shirt and a stiffer collar did not add to his ease. But he stood it manfully. Sitting on the edge of the chair he looked from one to the other, twirling his hat.

"How—how is trade?" asked Mollie, feeling that she ought to say something, but scarcely knowing what. She seemed to recall that this was a way to engage a business man in conversation.

"Not what it should be," replied Mr. Lagg, with a smile. He seemed to feel that he was making progress now. At least he was in his own element. "Not what it should be. I miss you girls. When you used to run in now and then for something in my line I did better. You were good customers, and I always shaded the prices all I could, besides reciting all my newest poetry as soon as I made it up. It isn't everyone I do that for," he added. "Why, to some customers I never speak more than a line or two in a whole year. But you girls—well, you're different. I miss seeing the Gem tied at my dock. There isn't a chance that you'll go cruising again; is there?" he asked, eagerly.

"You always did treat us right, Mr. Lagg," laughed Betty, "but I don't believe we'll do any more cruising—at least, not right away. We're going in for land cruising now."

"Land cruising?"

"Yes, Mollie has an auto, and we were just planning a tour when you came in."

"So, you see, unless you could arrange to have a sort of traveling store, we couldn't patronize you very often," went on Mollie, wondering why Mr. Lagg did not come to the point. He had evidently called with some special object in view, and leaving his establishment during the height of the season would seem to indicate that the object was not a trivial one. "But we'll stop in whenever we're near you," Mollie concluded.

"Thank you, Miss Billette. So you are going on an auto cruise; eh?"

"A tour, yes."

"Then that may fit in with what I have called about," said Mr. Lagg, quickly. "Yes, it may be just the very best idea yet. Excuse me a moment while I think," he said, and he closed his eyes. His head nodded two or three times in a satisfied sort of way, and occasionally he murmured to himself. The girls looked at one another, unable to fathom the meaning of this conduct. Then Mr. Lagg whistled and suddenly exclaimed:

"I have it! You can solve this mystery, too!"

"Another mystery?" queried Grace, rather languidly, as she took a more comfortable position on the divan. "We seem to be having a monopoly of them."

"What is it, Mr. Lagg?" asked Mollie.

"Were you much afraid of that ghost on Elm Island?" he replied, by asking another question.

"Not at all!" declared Betty, quickly.

"Especially as it was only—what it was," said Grace, with a laugh.

"Then I've got another one for you to solve," went on the poetical grocer. "It's a haunted house!"

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 mansion after ideas of his own. Everyone said Shadow Valley—at least that part of it—was too gloomy and out of the way to be a good place for a mansion like that, and the folks around here said it was foolish. They called it Kenyon's Folly from the start, though he named it Kenyon's Woodland Lodge, or some such fancy name as that."

"And did it turn out as the people said?" asked Amy.

"Yes," answered Mr. Lagg. "From the very first his wife took a dislike to the place. She said it was too gloomy, and in spite of a lot of entertainments and parties—elaborate affairs they were, too—life there was dreary. They had lots of company, but Shadow Valley seemed to cast a gloom over the big mansion.

"Then Mr. Kenyon died, and some said it was partly due to grief over the fact that his wife refused to live in the place. At any rate, he closed it up, and went abroad, I believe, not living long after he started to tour Europe.

"Then there was trouble over his will, his whole estate was thrown into court, and the heirs fought and squabbled over the mansion, as well as over the rest of his possessions. No one could get title to it, and the place fell into neglect."

"Yes, it certainly does look lonesome and forlorn around there," said Betty. "I was close to it about a year ago, but I never heard that it was haunted."

"It wasn't until recently," said Mr. Lagg, "and that brings me to this part of the story, and that's why I called on you. I might say that I now own that haunted mansion."

"You own it!" cried Grace. All the girls were interested now, whatever they had been before.

"Yes. After years of litigation the courts, last spring, ordered the mansion sold. I saw a chance to get a bargain, and as I had some money put away I bought in the property. I got it cheap, but I purchased it through an agent so that no one, except a very few, know that I own it."

"What are you going to do—live in it?" asked Mollie.

"Ugh! Fancy living in a haunted house!" exclaimed Amy, looking over her shoulder as though she felt a ghostly hand laid on it.

"No, I don't intend to live there," said Mr. Lagg. "I didn't buy it for that. But I thought it would be a good investment, and I had an idea of forming a company, and turning it into a hotel. By making some changes the surroundings could be made less gloomy, and the place would pay.

"But before I could do that I got an offer from some doctors, who wanted to establish a sort of sanitarium for the treatment of nervous diseases. They saw the mansion, and decided it would be just the thing, being so quiet, and all that."

"I should think it would be," murmured Grace.

"But where does the 'haunt' come in?" Betty wanted to know.

"I'm coming to that," spoke Mr. Lagg, being now too interested to quote a couplet. "Matters were going on well, and I expected to close the deal, and make a pretty penny, when the doctors said they couldn't take the property, as it was haunted, and of course a haunted house, with queer noises in the night, would never do as a home for nervous invalids. I could see that myself."

"But how did they know it was haunted?" asked Mollie.

"It seems that some of them were inspecting the place late one afternoon, a day or so ago," said the storekeeper, "when a shower came up, and they had to stay inside until it was over, which was after dark. It was then they heard the queer groans, and saw strange lights, and felt cold draughts of wind."

"Bur-r-r-r-r!" shivered Amy. "This is getting on my nerves."

"I guess it got on the nerves of the doctors," said Mr. Lagg, ruefully, "for they called off the deal, and said they could not take the house unless I would get rid of the haunt. Of course I laughed, and made an investigation."

"And you didn't find anything?" put in Betty, quickly.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I did," replied Mr. Lagg, quietly.

"You did! What?"

"Just what the doctors said—queer groanings—strange lights—like brimstone, and the same sort of smell—sulphur. I—I didn't stay long, I don't mind admitting that."

For a moment the girls were silent, and then Mollie spoke.

"Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Lagg," she asked, "that those doctors might be playing a trick on you to get you to part with the property cheap? A haunted house isn't the best sort of real estate, you know; but haunts and ghosts can easily be imitated, and those doctors might be up to some such trick as that."

"I did think of that," went on the storekeeper, "and that is why I came to you."

"You came to us!" chorused the girls.

"Yes. You see, you solved the mystery of the ghost of Elm Island, and I don't see why you can't do the same thing for Kenyon's Folly."

"But that ghost, on the island—was a natural one," said Grace. "And the boys helped us to discover what it was."

"Very well," said Mr. Lagg, calmly. "I've no objection to the boys helping you in this case. In fact, it might be better. But what I want to know is, could you—and would you—dare try to solve the ghostly mystery?"

The girls looked at one another. Amy was shaking her head in the negative. Betty and Mollie seemed interested, for they were born leaders, Betty especially. Grace reached for another chocolate, always a source of inspiration for her.

"Of course I'm not asking you to give up your time and go to a lot of trouble for nothing," resumed Mr. Lagg, quickly. "I am willing to pay you well. So I make you this offer. If you can discover what makes those ghostly sounds and manifestations, and can show me a way to get rid of them, if they are natural, which I am sure they are, why, I'll pay you a good sum. I can afford to, for I can then sell the mansion to the sanitarium doctors. Will you try it?"

"But if those doctors are interested in depreciating the value of the property, by making it appear haunted, they would have a good object in preventing us from finding out what causes the queer noises and lights," said Mollie.

"Exactly," agreed Mr. Lagg, "but you girls were smart enough to solve that five hundred dollar mystery, and the mystery on Elm Island, so I have hopes that you can help me out in this. That is why I called. Will you help me?"

"Shall we, girls?" asked Mollie.

CHAPTER VIII

IN THE MUD

Mr. Lagg looked hopefully from one to the other of the Outdoor Girls. Clearly he was very much in earnest over his strange offer, and he saw nothing out of the ordinary in it. But it must be admitted that it is not every day four girls are asked to take a motor tour and solve the mystery of a ghost-haunted house. Betty and her chums evidently realized that.

Betty finally spoke.

"Well," she said, slowly, "we would like to do you a favor, Mr. Lagg, and we wouldn't want you to pay us——"

"I won't have you undertake it on any other basis," he interrupted. "If you solve that mystery for me it will be a big favor, and worth paying for. I might make up a verse about that part of it, but I won't take your time. But please consider it."

"If we did it at all," spoke Mollie, "we would do it as a favor to you, for you have been very kind to us. But I don't like to promise to undertake it. I'm sure mamma would object."

"I wouldn't want to stay all night in a haunted house," declared Amy, with a shudder, whereat Grace cried:

"Don't do that! You'll have us all nervous before we know it."

"You might not have to stay there all night," said Mr. Lagg, "though of course I know that is customary in solving mysteries of this kind. You might be able to tell what it was without staying there long. I wouldn't want you to run any risks, you know."

"Why don't you undertake it yourself?" asked Betty.

"I can't spare the time. I am needed at my store. That boy is sure to wrap up the wrong kind of tea or sugar, and my customers are very particular. And as for the poetry end of the business, he is no good at that at all. No, I can't spare the time."

"But if you think those doctors have an object in making the mansion appear haunted," spoke Grace, "why do you not go to the authorities and complain? Surely they would do something for you."

"I thought of that," said Mr. Lagg, simply, "but you know what the police are about ghosts. They would only laugh at me, and do nothing. Besides, if these doctors are doing it, they are sharp enough to cover their tracks well. I would have no chance. But they would never suspect you girls, and they might betray themselves. Come now, will you look into this for me?"

He was very much in earnest, and Mollie, who had at first been inclined to laugh at the ghost theory, began to think that at least Mr. Lagg had some basis for his alarm. If after all his work in getting the property, that no one had cared for so long, it was to become useless on his hands, he was to be pitied, for he had labored hard to accumulate his savings.

Still the girls did not want to be rash, to run into danger, or undertake something that would get them unpleasantly talked about, for in no place other than in a country town is there so much gossip.

"You needn't answer me right away," went on the storekeeper. "Take a little time and think it over. Speak to your folks about it, and tell the boys, if you like. But if these ghosts, whatever they are, don't get out of that place soon, I'll lose all the money I put in it."

"Did those doctors hint at taking it at a lower figure than you offered it for?" asked Betty.

"No, they haven't yet. If that is their game they will wait a little longer, I think," spoke Mr. Lagg. "But don't be in a hurry to decide now. Think it over. I'll go now, for I must get back to my store.

He bowed to them all in turn, and took his leave, the girls excitedly talking about the object of his visit, as he went out.

"Did you ever hear of such a thing?" asked Grace.

"The haunted mansion of Shadow Valley," remarked Mollie. "It reads like a book title."

"Maybe we could make a story of it," suggested Amy, whose taste ran somewhat to literature, and who had won several prizes in school essay work.

"We'd better solve the mystery first," said practical Betty, "then we'll know what sort of a book to make. I wonder if we ought to take this up?" and she gazed half-doubtfully, half-suggestingly, at her chums.

"Not right away, at any rate!" exclaimed Mollie. "Let's talk about our motor tour. I'm just dying to get off on that. Afterward we can consider Mr. Lagg's offer. Poor man, he seemed really worried! I'd like to help him if we could."

"So would I!" declared Betty.

The girls alternated their talk between the proposed tour and the haunted mansion. The latter was left in abeyance, but they tentatively decided to take a long auto trip, as soon as they could arrange for a chaperone to go with them on such occasions as they would stay over night at hotels, while other nights were to be spent at the homes of relatives or friends. In a way it would be a duplication of their camping and tramping trip, except that they would cover a wider range of country, and be more comfortable.

"And I only hope we have as much fun!" exclaimed Mollie. "Now, girls, we've talked enough. Let's go for a run. I telephoned to have my car brought here, and——"

"Here it is—quite marvelous!" interrupted Betty, as the large and handsome auto drew up outside, in charge of a man from the garage.

Auto veils, bonnets, goggles and gowns were soon donned, Mollie's chums having come partly prepared for a trip, and soon, with Mollie at the wheel, they were riding down the pleasant main street of Deepdale.

"Hey there! Take us along!" came a voice as they turned off the main thoroughfare into a smaller road that led to the farming country beyond.

"It's Will and Frank," said Grace, as she observed the two boys.

"And there comes Allen," added Amy.

"Now, Betty, maybe you'll talk more," for the Little Captain had been rather silent.

"Shall we take them?" asked Mollie, as she noted Betty's blushing cheeks. "There is plenty of room." Her car would seat seven with comfort.

"Take us along!" pleaded Will. "We'll buy the chocolates, girls."

"Oh, let him come," petitioned Grace, for her candy stock had again run low.

"That's all she thinks of!" declared Betty. "But I have no objections."

"Especially when Allen is around," taunted Mollie, as she slowed up her car near the sidewalk.

"Come on, fellows!" exulted Will. "We're going to have a ride in the joy wagon."

"The chocolates," Grace reminded him, coolly, as he started to get in between her and Amy.

"We'll buy them when we get out a ways," he promised.

"Get them at Lee's," she stipulated. "His are best."

"Did you ever see such a sister!" cried Will. "She has no heart! Very well, run us around to Lee's, Mollie. I'll get the candy if it—breaks me," and he began searching through his pockets, picking up bits of change on the way.

The other boys took their seats, and soon the machine was moving again, a stop being made for the chocolates. Grace insisted on going into the store with her brother.

"If I didn't he'd palm off the twenty-cent kind on us, and tell us they were Lee's best," she said to her chums.

"You eat so many of them that you can't tell the difference—your taste is jaded," taunted Will.

"Can't I, though?" replied Grace. "Well, I'm not going to give you the chance to try me. We'll have the best!"

Again they were under way, Grace passing around the box of confectionery.

"Shall we tell the boys about Mr. Lagg?" asked Betty of Mollie, beside whom she rode on the front seat, the boys and other girls being in the tonneau.

"Just as you like."

"Then I think I will." The story was soon told.

"Was he in earnest?" demanded Will.

"He seemed so."

"Then let's have a try at laying the ghost!" proposed Frank. "I wonder what the union rates are for ridding haunted houses of the haunt? We must have union wages."

"Of course," agreed Will. "Girls, will you transfer any rights you may have as ghost-layers to us, if we pay you a commission?"

"We'll think about it," murmured Betty.

"I believe it's all foolishness!" declared Grace. "Maybe Mr. Lagg was only making fun of us."

"No, there is something in it," said Allen Washburn, quietly.

"How do you know?" demanded Will, quickly.

"Because I acted as Mr. Lagg's representative in some legal matters," replied the young law student, who was allowed to do some practice. "I know that he owns the old mansion, and I heard, indirectly, that he was having trouble disposing of it to the sanitarium doctors. Of course I can't say as to the ghost, but there is some hitch over carrying out the transaction. If you girls could solve the mystery, providing there is one, I know you would be doing Mr. Lagg a service."

"Then let's do it!" cried impulsive Mollie.

"And we'll help," added Will.

Half-jokingly they talked about it as they motored over the pleasant road. There had been a heavy shower the night before and the main highways were in excellent condition, though a trifle muddy in spots. Of course some of the less-used country roads would be well-nigh impassable.

It was while crossing one of these roads, on a hard macadam highway, that the girls and boys saw, stuck in the mud of the poorer path, a peddler's wagon. The bony horse was doing its best to move the vehicle, which had sunk down in a hole, one wheel being imbedded in the mud to the hub.

"Why, it's that hair-tonic man!" exclaimed Mollie, as she slowed down to avoid a rut in the road.

"No, his wagon is all painted with gaudy signs," said Betty. "That's a boy driving that wagon. Why—why!" she exclaimed, as she caught sight of the lad, "it's the same boy who took home the little lost girl for us—the same one who told us about the man with the five hundred dollar bill. It's Jimmie Martin!"

CHAPTER IX

IN SHADOW VALLEY

The boy, who was endeavoring—and by gentle urging, be it said to his credit—to get the horse to pull the wagon out of the mud-hole, looked up on hearing his name spoken by Betty. At first he did not recognize the girls, and his face plainly showed this.

"Don't you know us?" asked Mollie, as she brought her car to a stop.

The boy shook his head. Then, as he looked from face to face, a light came over his own.

"Oh, yes!" he cried. "You found the little lost child when you were on your walking tour, and turned her over to me."

"Exactly," agreed Betty. "But you seem to be in trouble, Jimmie," for the bony horse had given over the attempt to move the mired wagon and was patiently resting between the shafts, awaiting developments.

"I am in trouble," Jimmie admitted, frankly.

"Have you given up your business, and are you working for some one else?" Grace wanted to know. "Why have you the wagon? The last time you carried your own pack."

"I'm still my own boss," he replied, with a smile. "I am trying for a larger trade, that's all. I got the chance to buy this outfit cheap, and I took it. I guess I got it too cheap," he added, ruefully, "for this horse isn't strong enough to pull me out of this mud-hole. I shouldn't have come this way."

He looked down at the soft, miry road. The one wheel seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into the clay, and the others showed a propensity to follow its example.

"Where did you come from?" asked Will, whose sister had explained to him and the other boys under what circumstances they first met the young peddler.

"Up Shadow Valley way," was the answer, and instinctively the auto party of boys and girls started, and looked at one another.

"Er—was trade good up that way?" asked Frank.

"Oh, not very. You see, there are not enough folks living there. So I thought I'd take a short cut over to Limeburg. I generally do pretty well there. But I guess I'd have done better to have gone the long way. I'm stuck for fair. Go 'long there, Stamp!" he called to the horse. "See if you can move the boat."

"Stamp? Is that his name?" asked Betty.

"I just christened him that, Miss," replied Jimmie, with a smile.

"Why?" asked Grace, who was always the last one to see a joke.

"Because, Miss, he's—stuck!" was the answer, and the others, who had anticipated this, laughed at poor Grace.

"I don't care!" she said. "I was thinking of something else then."

"Well, I guess I'll have to stay here until this mud dries up," went on Jimmie, "or I might feed up Stamp until he is strong enough to pull me out. Only that would take too long, I'm afraid. He's been kept on a diet of carpet tacks, lately, to judge by the many fine points about him," he added, whimsically.

Will alighted from the auto, and, going as far as the edge of the muddy road, looked critically at the stalled wagon. Then he asked:

"Have you a long rope?"

"Not a very long one," said the boy peddler, "but I have one that may do. I'll get it," and he delved in the rear of his vehicle.

"What's the game?" asked Frank.

"I was going to see if we couldn't pull him out of the hole," replied Will. "If the rope is long enough to reach from his wagon to the auto, and the rope holds, and his wagon doesn't pull apart with the strain, we can do it."

"Oh, I hope we can!" cried Mollie. "We must try."

Jimmie produced the rope, and, tossing one end of it to Will, proved that it was long enough. It looked sufficiently strong, too.

"Now, Mollie, if you'll turn around, and back down as near as you can, we'll see what we can do," proposed Will.

While the car was being manipulated to the proper position, Will tied some knots in the rope.

"Fasten this end to the middle of the whiffle-tree," he called to Jimmie, tossing the loop to him. "In that way you won't have to unhitch the horse, nor get out in the mud yourself."

"Oh, I won't mind that—if I can get out of this hole."

"Might as well take it as easy as you can," went on Will. "That's the ticket. Be sure your knots are firm."

"Yes, don't tie granny ones the way I did the night the Gem got adrift," murmured Grace.

The rope was soon fast to the wagon and backed-up auto.

"Go ahead slowly," cautioned Will. "We don't know what will give way first, the horse or the wagon. Take it easy, Mollie."

Slowly the auto started. There came a strain on the rope. There was a creaking to the old vehicle, and then it slowly began to emerge from the mud. The old horse, who had almost gone to sleep, roused up at this strange activity, and was literally forced to stir out of his tracks. In a few seconds the wagon was on the firm road, the auto having pulled it in a diagonal direction from the mud-hole.

"Thanks, ever so much!" exclaimed Jimmie. "I'm sure I can't thank you enough. If ever you get stuck——"

"You'll pull us out!" finished Mollie.

"Not until Stamp is better able to do it," the boy answered with a laugh. "But I'll do all I can."

"And so you didn't like Shadow Valley?" asked Will, as the boy made ready to proceed on his way.

"No, it's too gloomy for me. Hardly anyone lives there."

"Did you see that big mansion up there?" asked Grace.

"The one that rich man built, you mean? Yes, I passed near it a while ago. It's only about three miles from here. The grounds are pretty well in ruins now, but the house is good."

"See anything strange about it?" asked Will.

"Strange? What do you mean?"

"Oh, well, I mean—er—any tramps in it—or anything like that?"

"No, not a thing," and Jimmie looked curiously at his questioner. "Well, I must be going. No more muddy roads for me!"

The auto party took their places again, Betty succeeding Mollie at the wheel, and Will being promised a chance later. Then they started off.

"Where are you going?" asked Grace, as Betty turned up a road on which they seldom journeyed. "This doesn't take us anywhere in particular."

"It goes to Shadow Valley," answered Betty.

"Are—are you going there?" gasped Amy.

"Just to get a glimpse of it," was the reply. "Surely you're not afraid—in broad daylight."

"And with us along?" demanded Will, heroically. "Shame!"

"Oh, well——" began Amy, but she did not finish.

"This side road leads right into the valley," said Mollie, a little later.

"Then we'll take it," decided Betty, and she swung the car about. A little later they were looking down from a height into the strange valley.

One end—that nearest them—was laid out in a number of small farms, on which were substantial houses. But the other end, where "Kenyon's Folly" had been built, was in the narrower part, and was almost deserted as regards residences. This section of the valley was narrower, the hills—almost mountains—rose high on either side, hemming it in. This produced deep shadows early and late in the day, and gave the valley its name.

"There's the ghost house!" said Will, in a low voice, pointing toward a mansion, perched on one of the side hills, on a natural ledge. "I can see the ghost now!"

"Oh!" screamed Amy.

At that moment from the dense underbrush near the auto there came a loud cry, and some one fairly tumbled down a little declivity into the road—the figure of an old man with long, white hair.

CHAPTER X

OFF ON THE TOUR

Grace and Amy were in each other's arms. Betty admitted afterward that she wished she had some one to lean on, but she gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles went white with the strain. Mollie clutched the sides of the seat in a grip of something like despair. The boys looked wonderingly at one another, and then at the strange figure that had tumbled out of the bushes.

"Oh, it's the hair-tonic peddler!" exclaimed Mollie a moment later, as she got a glimpse of the man. He had risen and was brushing the dust off his rusty black suit.

"The who?" asked Will.

"A man who sells hair-tonic," explained Betty in a low voice, for the stranger was looking at them now.

"At your service, ladies and gentlemen!" exclaimed the proprietor of Bennington's Hair-Tonic. "I see you remember me," and he smirked at the girls—that hard, and rather cruel, look never leaving his face, even when he smiled.

"Oh, yes, we remember you," replied Betty, coolly. She now had control of her nerves.

"Don't talk to him too much," advised Allen, in a low voice. "You never can tell who these fellows are, nor what their game is."

"Ob, he's harmless," replied Betty, in a return whisper. "We met him on the road one day, and supplied a bolt that he had lost from his wagon."

"All the same," insisted Will, "he might——"

He was interrupted by Mollie, who asked:

"Where is your wagon?"

"I left it in a secure place," replied the hair tonic man.

"What were you doing up there?" asked Allen, nodding in the direction whence the man had taken his tumble.

"That was an accident," replied Mr. Bennington, who continued to dust his clothes, which seemed to have accumulated considerable of the dirt of the road. "I was up on the hillside gathering the herbs I use in my tonic, when my foot slipped. I heard the auto coming, and I was afraid I might roll under it. That is why I yelled."

"Oh," said Mollie, faintly. "Well, you got on our nerves, Mr. Bennington."

"I am sorry I have nothing for nerves," and the fellow bowed, rather mockingly, it seemed. "I am a specialist in hair. If you would like any of my tonic—something to make your locks like mine," and he shook his own with an air of pride, "why," he resumed, "I am at your service!" Again he bowed.

"I don't think we care for any," answered Allen, who seemed to have, in common with the other boys, taken a dislike to the peddler. "Suppose we go on, Betty."

"Very well," replied the Little Captain at the wheel, as she advanced the gasoline lever. The motor had not ceased running.

"Then I can't sell you any of my Restorer?" called Mr. Bennington, as Betty slowly let in the clutch.

"No," answered Allen, and he glanced back in time to note the fellow making an elaborate bow, his white locks falling about his head in a "shower."

"I don't like him," Frank announced, when they were out of the man's hearing.

"Nor I," added Will.

"Why not? He seems harmless enough," spoke Amy. "Poor man! he probably has a hard time making a living."

"Don't you believe it!" declared Will. "To my way of thinking, he's a faker. He looked plump and well-fed enough. I warrant you he has no lack of good food. Those fellows put about ten cents worth of alcohol in a bottle, a little perfume and some water, and sell it for a dollar as hair-tonic."

"Well, really some of that stuff must be awful!" exclaimed Grace. "I'm glad I never use it."

"You never have to—nature was good to you," murmured Frank in her ear, whereat Grace blushed.

Mollie glanced back toward Shadow Valley. The gloom over it was increasing, and at the far end could just be discerned the deserted mansion—the remnant of a rich man's folly. About that, too, the shadows seemed to gather, dark and foreboding.

"Ugh! That place gives me the creeps!" Mollie muttered. And against the dusky background of the valley and the old mansion she beheld the figure of the rather mysterious peddler. His white locks stood out in strange contrast to the surrounding darkness, and his black clothes.

"It certainly looks as though it might be haunted," agreed Betty. "Poor Mr. Lagg! I'm afraid he will never get the money he expects out of that place. It would never do for a sanitarium for nervous wrecks."

"Oh, I don't know," answered Will. "I've been close to it several times, and, I think, by cutting down some of the trees that keep out the sunlight, a good view could be had. Then the place would not be half so depressing. But of course if it gets a reputation of being haunted that will settle it as far as people with weak nerves are concerned. Are you girls going to take up Lagg's offer?"

"We haven't thought of it lately," replied Grace.

"Too busy arranging for our grand tour," added Mollie.

"Well, we fellows may decide to take it up, and get the reward—it would come in handy for vacation money," said Will.

The car was now descending a slope, and soon Shadow Valley was out of sight, as was the strange old mansion. The girls breathed easier, and perhaps the boys did also, for, though nothing had actually occurred, the reputation of the place, and the sudden and startling appearance of the old man, had given them all a thrill.

"This is the second time some one has tumbled out almost under our auto," said Mollie, as they turned on a road toward Deepdale. "The third time may not be so lucky for them—or for us."

"That's so," agreed Amy. "The first was that girl who disappeared so mysteriously. I wonder what became of her?"

"So do I," spoke Grace.

"And if she ever went back to the mysterious 'him' of whom she talked?" added Betty.

"Perhaps it was her—sweetheart—and they had a quarrel," suggested Will.

"Is it silly to—have a sweetheart?" asked Allen, with a glance at Betty, whose face was then turned toward him. He saw the flush on her cheeks deepen.

"Of course!" declared Mollie.

"No, but it's silly to quarrel with them," said Will. "Isn't it, girls? Especially when they bring you—chocolates."

"It's all some of them are good for!" declared Grace, with a toss of her head.

"Children—children!" said Amy, pleadingly. "Don't be naughty."

"All right—little mother!" promised Will.

"But, seriously, I often think of that girl," went on Mollie. "She seemed very nice, and in such trouble."

"Funny about being up a tree, though," said Will, drily. "Maybe she was one of the original tree-dwellers, and reverted to her ancient days."

"You are hopeless," murmured Grace. "Don't encourage him, girls."

"If they don't I'll pine away and go into a gradual decline," said Will, languishingly, trying, unsuccessfully, to put his head on Amy's shoulder.

"Stop it!" she commanded.

"I have it!" cried Frank. "That girl wasn't—well, not to put too fine a point upon it—she wasn't just right in her head. That's why she climbed a tree."

"Poor girl!" spoke Amy. "I hope she found some friends, at any rate," and Amy thought of the mystery surrounding her own life, and how fortunate she had been to find such a good home with Mr. and Mrs. Stonington.

Talking of the recent happening, laughing and joking, the young people were soon in Deepdale, and a little later had separated to their several homes.

As Mollie had said, the details of the tour were now practically settled. Mollie's cousin, Mrs. Jane Mackson, had arranged to accompany the girls as chaperone, and on such times as she could not be with them they were to stop over night at the homes of friends or relatives.

They did not arrange for any definite rules about their trips. It was to be a pleasure jaunt, and at times they would cover more ground than others. Nor were any fixed dates set as to when they would be at certain places. As Mollie aptly expressed it:

"It's so much nicer not to know exactly what you are going to do, and then if anything comes up to make you change your plans you're not disappointed. We're going to be as care-free as we can."

And so the tour was laid out. The girls would take with them suit-cases with sufficient change of raiment to do them until other things could be forwarded from their homes to various designated points. Occasionally they would take a run back to Deepdale to renew necessaries.

The farthest point they would reach would be to visit an aunt of Mollie's in Midvale, about two hundred miles from Deepdale. But this would come at the end of the tour.

"Well, I think we are all ready to start!" exclaimed Mollie one morning, when the three girls, and her cousin, had assembled at her house. "Have you everything you need?"

"Not nearly—but all I can carry," announced Betty.

"No, no, Dodo! Mustn't climb in the car!" admonished Mollie, for the little girl was endeavoring to do so.

"Dot any tandy?" demanded Paul, possibly as the price of not following his sister's example.

"Ess—us ikes tandy!" cried Dodo, climbing down.

"Oh, Grace, will you kindly oblige again!" begged Mollie, as she took her place at the wheel.

"Certainly," said Grace, sweetly.

The girls were in the car.

"All aboard—we're off!" cried Mollie, and she pressed the self-starter button.