“I’m ready to tell my little story, boys,” he remarked.  “It isn’t such a wonderful one, after all, but Hugh agreed with me that it might give some of us an excuse for coming up this way.  And my aunt had supplied all the necessary funds covering our railroad fare from Oakvale to the little station where we jumped off the local train—–­Scarsdale.”

“Which aunt, Alec?” demanded Billy, whom it was always difficult to suppress.

“Oh! none of you ever met this relative of mine, I guess,” considered Alec.  “Aunt Susan is a very rich woman, and what you might call eccentric if you wanted to be particularly nice, and not use a harsher word.  In fact, her nerves have gone back on her, and every little noise about sets her wild.  She has taken a notion that the only salvation for her is to find some sort of a quiet country home in which her servants can glide around in felt slippers, with never a rooster’s crow to disturb the dead silence.”

“Whew! you must mean she’s a regular crank, Alec—–­excuse me for saying it!” exclaimed Billy, wiping his heated brow, for when others were shivering the fat boy perspired.

“Well, forget that part of it,” resumed Alec, making a wry face.  “Aunt Susan is peculiar, and immensely wealthy, so that money needn’t stand in the way of her doing anything she fancies.  In some way or other it seems she heard about a queer place away up here in the woods.  It is known as Randall’s Folly!”

“Why, seems to me I’ve heard something about that place!” burst out Arthur Cameron, in a surprised tone.  “Isn’t it a modern castle built by a man years ago and meant to look like some British place in the days of Queen Elizabeth?”

“Just what it is, Arthur,” chuckled Alec, as though highly amused.

“Let’s see,” pursued the other, uneasily, “there was some sort of story told in connection with the castle—–­strikes me folks said it was haunted, or something like that.”

“Whew! and are we heading for that beautiful spot as fast as we can hike along?” demanded Billy, his eyes round with wonder, perhaps uneasiness.

“My aunt wrote to my mother that she wanted some one to come up here and investigate, so she could have a full description before going any further into the deal for the property.  Not that Aunt Susan bothered a bit about the ghost part of it, but she wanted to know whether the building was a ramshackle affair, or part-way decent.  In fact, she asked for photographs of the place inside and out, and even requested that, if I could be induced to take the trip, along with some of those wonderfully bright chums of mine of whom she had been hearing such great stories, I was to buy the best camera that fifty dollars could command, and use the balance of the hundred for other expenses.  So here we are close to Randall’s Folly, with Saturday ahead of us for business, and meaning to go back home Sunday afternoon.”