Indeed, the little man had been rendered more than usually irritable lately, in consequence of various cares and vexations which his country estate had brought upon him.  The doctor had been repeatedly annoyed by the rumours and tales which prevailed concerning the old mansion; and found it difficult to prevail even upon the countryman and his family to remain there rent-free.  Every time he rode out to the farm, he was teased by some fresh complaint of strange noises and fearful sights, with which the tenants were disturbed at night; and the doctor would come home fretting and fuming, and vent his spleen upon the whole household.  It was indeed a sore grievance, that affected him both in pride and purse.  He was threatened with an absolute loss of the profits of his property; and then, what a blow to his territorial consequence, to be the landlord of a haunted house!

It was observed, however, that with all his vexation, the doctor never proposed to sleep in the house himself; nay, he could never be prevailed upon to remain in the premises after dark, but made the best of his way for town, as soon as the bats began to flit about in the twilight.  The fact was, the doctor had a secret belief in ghosts, having passed the early part of his life in a country where they particularly abound; and indeed the story went, that, when a boy, he had once seen the devil upon the Hartz mountains in Germany.

At length, the doctor’s vexations on this head were brought to a crisis.  One morning, as he sat dozing over a volume in his study, he was suddenly started from his slumbers by the bustling in of the housekeeper.

“Here’s a fine to do!” cried she, as she entered the room.  “Here’s Claus Hopper come in, bag and baggage, from the farm, and swears he’ll have nothing more to do with it.  The whole family have been frightened out of their wits; for there’s such racketing and rummaging about the old house, that they can’t sleep quiet in their beds!”

“Donner und blitzen!” cried the doctor, impatiently; “will they never have done chattering about that house?  What a pack of fools, to let a few rats and mice frighten them out of good quarters!”

“Nay, nay,” said the housekeeper, wagging her head knowingly, and piqued at having a good ghost story doubted, “there’s more in it than rats and mice.  All the neighbourhood talks about the house; and then such sights have been seen in it!  Peter de Groodt tells me, that the family that sold you the house and went to Holland, dropped several strange hints about it, and said, ’they wished you joy of your bargain;’ and you know yourself there’s no getting any family to live in it.”

“Peter de Groodt’s a ninny—­an old woman,” said the doctor, peevishly; “I’ll warrant he’s been filling these people’s heads full of stories.  It’s just like his nonsense about the ghost that haunted the church belfry, as an excuse for not ringing the bell that cold night when Hermanus Brinkerhoff’s house was on fire.  Send Claus to me.”