About this old place many stories clung of mystery and violent death.

From the time of its erection by a runaway n.o.bleman 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 cheerily to the boy, learned that his name was "Jackie." A stick of candy from Tom's pocket was greedily accepted by Jackie. Tom was feeling blue that day thinking of his father from whom had come no word, of his mother and sister, and his old home. He wandered on un.o.bservant of the fact that it was growing dark, and that a storm was fast approaching. He was suddenly called to a sense of his surroundings by hearing a cry behind him, and turning back saw that little Jackie was d.o.g.g.i.ng his footsteps.

The youngster was tired out now, and wanted "home and mother," so Tom spoke a soothing word or two and they commenced to retrace their footsteps. He noted now that the storm was soon to break, and Jackie was too tired to hurry, so he gathered the little fellow into his strong arms, and made fast time for home.

By the time they had reached the apple tree it was quite dark. Large drops of rain, the roar of thunder, and the glare of lightning told Tom that he was none too soon. He ran through the unkempt garden, and was quickly at the door. A sinister looking place it was even in daylight, and now revealed by an occasional lightning flash, the house seemed but a wreck of former stateliness. Not a light was visible within, and to Tom's loud and hurried rappings on the door, there was no response.

A flash of lightning however, showed Tom that the door was unlatched, and with the rain now descending in torrents, he hesitated no longer, but stepped within. There was a rush of wind, a rattle of shutters, a deafening peal of thunder as if close at hand, and with a crash the great door suddenly closed.

It did not take Tom long to determine that he and his little charge were alone in a deserted mansion.

"Is this your home, Jackie?" inquired Tom.

The little fellow whom Tom had placed upon the floor was thoroughly terrified, and could only grasp his answer.

"It is the haunted house, let me go home."

"Nonsense, Jackie, don't be afraid, but where is your home?"

Meantime Tom had turned about and was searching for the handle of the great door. There was none. It had been broken off, and this means of egress was unavailable.

"Let's see if we can find a window," suggested Tom, but Jackie clung closer to his rescuer and began to cry wildly.

"There is a ghost, it's coming," shrieked the little fellow.

Tom looked along the depth of the long hall, and at first saw nothing, then at the next flash of lightning he was startled to see two green and glaring eyes fixed upon him. No thought of such a thing as a ghost entered his mind, he was far too sensible for that, and had no fear of spirits. If they were good spirits, he argued, of course they would not hurt, if they were bad, he might hurt them. He was for advancing at once to investigate, but his little charge clung to him in desperate terror.

Then there came another crash of thunder, and at the same instant a noise as of an overturned table, and the rattle of pans and pots upon the floor. But the eyes, they were gone-no, they were close upon the floor, and coming toward them. Tom could not deny that he felt a creeping feeling, and poor Jackie, always observant of the goings on, was simply overcome with fright, and buried his head in Tom's side to shut out the dreaded sight.

"Come, Jackie, let's get out of here," encouraged Tom, and having observed a window in the room to the left, he once more took up his charge and made for it.

Halfway to his objective point, however, he was startled for a moment to see revealed by a lantern the whiskered face of a man on the other side of the window. Tom stopped short an instant, but not so Jackie, who struggled from his protector's embrace calling out, "There's papa!"

In a brief interval Jackie was in his parent's arms, and as they lived next door to the deserted mansion, Tom was soon being thanked time and again for the rescue of the little runaway.

"And is the house really haunted?" asked Tom, and then without waiting for a reply he answered his own question "but of course I know it is not."

"No," was the laughing response, "but it has been unoccupied except by cats, and in some way has gotten that name."

"And then the eyes we saw-?"

"Quite likely a stray cat, but still it would not be wondered at if your nerves got on edge. You are a brave boy, Tom Dare, and I know I shall hear of brave deeds of yours in the future."

The storm had moderated, and Tom now had to hasten back to camp where he was welcomed for he had for distribution a large bag of apples, given him by Jackie's father.

That evening about the camp-fire Tom recounted his adventures to his friends, and a trip was planned for the next day to explore the secrets of the old house.

The following morning, after drill and the camp duties had been performed, Tom, d.i.c.k and Ben set out for the scene of the previous day's excitement.

"I don't believe half of these 'haunted house' stories," said Tom, "ever since-," and here he stopped.

"Yes, ever since you thought we had a real ghost, and suggested leaving the poor spirit to its own reflection while you and the rest of us made for home," broke in d.i.c.k.

"When was that?" questioned Ben.

"Why, about a year ago," d.i.c.k responded, "four of us spent a night in a house with a 'haunted' reputation, and after numerous fake alarms, caused by the wind shaking the windows or banging the shutters, we at last got track of the real disturber, who happened along the very night we were on watch."

"Who was it?" questioned Ben, eagerly, while Tom, remembering his temporary terror on that night, grew suspiciously red in the face.

"None other than a marauding cat," d.i.c.k replied, "whose head had stuck in a can it was drinking from, and who knocked the unwelcome helmet on the floor in an effort to disengage it."

The boys had now reached the old mansion, and a trip through its ruined rooms failed to reveal anything unusual, so after gathering another supply of apples, the three returned to camp.

Chapter XV

d.i.c.k Again Does Spy-Work

As the days and weeks dragged slowly past and the British did not make an attack on the patriot force on Brooklyn Heights, General Washington became somewhat impatient. He was puzzled by the action, or rather lack of action of the enemy, and was desirous of learning what it meant.

There was only one way that this could be done-by sending a spy to venture among the enemy and spy upon them, and as d.i.c.k Dare had done good work for him on two former occasions, the commander-in-chief decided to try him again. He had been on the Heights, conferring with General Putnam, on the afternoon of August 20th, and presently he summoned an orderly and told him to tell d.i.c.k Dare to come to headquarters.

The orderly saluted and went in search of the youth, whom he found in company with his brother Tom, and Ben Foster and two or three other soldiers, talking listlessly and wondering when the British would make an attack.

"d.i.c.k Dare, you are wanted at headquarters," said the orderly. "The commander-in-chief sent me to inform you."

d.i.c.k leaped up with alacrity.

"I'll go at once," he said.

"Maybe he is wanting you to do some more spy-work, d.i.c.k," suggested Ben.

"I hope so. I would like to get away from camp and circulate around awhile."

"So would I," said Tom.

"Yes, and get captured again," grinned Ben. "You are not cut out for spy-work, Tom. You are too impulsive."

"Oh, I don't know about that," demurred Tom. "I'd like to try spying, on my own hook, once, like d.i.c.k does."

"I don't think either of us would be as successful as d.i.c.k," remarked Ben.