Presently the carriage passed through a small village which the boys were told was called Rushville.
"I don't know why they call it that," said Mr. Sanderson with a chuckle. "Ain't no rushes growing around here, and there ain't no rush either; it's as dead as a salted mackerel," and he chuckled again. "But there's one thing here worth knowing about," he added suddenly.
"Whats' that?" asked Dick.
"The Jamison place—it's haunted."
"Haunted!" cried Tom. "What, a house?"
"Yes, a big, old-fashioned house, set in a lot of trees. It ain't been occupied for years, and the folks say it's haunted, and nobody goes near it."
"We'll have to inspect it some day," said Sam promptly.
"What—you?" cried the fat farmer.
"Sure."
"Ain't you scared?"
"No," answered the youngest Rover. "I don't believe in ghosts."
"Well, they say it's worth a man's life to go in that house, especially after dark."
"I think I'd risk it."
"So would I," added Tom.
"We'll pay the haunted house a visit some day
