“The ghost!” gasped Roger, jumping into the car.

The others followed.  The carriage had made a quick turn and was now almost upon them.

Ned put on full speed, and was soon out on the open road.

“What’s the answer?” asked Tom, who could not make out what all the fuss was about.

“Did you see Abe’s face?” asked Nat as they once more felt that it was safe to exchange remarks.

“Almost went white,” replied Ned.  “None is so frightened at ghosts as a darky.”

“Ghost!” repeated Tom.  “Do you mean to say there really is a ghost up there in that old rat-trap?”

“Something,” replied Nat.  “We have heard that same scream before, and it does not sound like anything human.”

“Why in thunder didn’t we go up and swat it?” asked Tom, quite disgusted that such an opportunity should have been missed.

“Because Roland has a dinner date, and because we were trespassing.  You don’t suppose we just want to walk into trouble like that, do you?” inquired Nat.

“Well, I’d take chances when it came to bagging a real live ghost.  I hope we get another shot at it.”

“There’s the carriage,” exclaimed Joe.  “Just look at old Abe!”

“Scared stiff!” added Nat.  “Well, I don’t blame him.  He was dangerously near that scream.  Perhaps his passenger is a ventriloquist and threw her scream.  The voice certainly came from the castle.”

The carriage passed the Fire Bird at that moment.  Ned had slackened speed after his first spurt.

“That woman doesn’t look as if she could throw anything—­not even her voice,” remarked Roland, when the carriage had passed.  “But I fancy the old colored fellow is about ready to ‘throw a fit,’ at any rate.”

“Wait till Abe tells it,” said Joe, laughing.  Abe had a reputation for “telling things.”

“It certainly is queer,” mused Ned.  “I’m not exactly a ghost fiend, but there must be something uncanny up there in that old castle.”

“Tavia says there are real magazine ghosts,” spoke up Roger decidedly.

“What particular variety is that?” asked Tom.

“Oh, Tavia declares that in magazines scientific fellows are materializing the immaterial,” said Nat quite learnedly.  “That is what we call magazine ghosts.”

“But that howl was never immaterial,” persisted Tom.  “I should say it emanated from a well developed thorax.”

The Fire Bird was spinning along at a lively rate now, for as night neared it grew colder, and the party were anxious to get within doors.

“I hope the girls like the greenstuffs,” remarked Roland as the home road was reached.

“Let us out here,” said Tom as Ned prepared to run into The Elms.  “We can get our blood in circulation before we reach the fire.  Whew! it is cold!  Well, say, we’ve had an awfully jolly time, fellows.  Hope we can make it up to you—­”

“Don’t mention it,” interrupted Ned as the young men alighted.