"Do you know any of the fellows at Brill?" questioned Tom, nudging Sam
in the ribs as he spoke.

"A few. Minnie met some of 'em at the baseball and football games, and
once in a while one of 'em stops at our house. But we are most too far
away to see much of 'em."

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.

"What's 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.