“I’ve got it,” he whispered.  “Here’s the place.”

His fingers described a circle on the wall.  He tapped gently in the middle of the circle.

“Hark!” he said.  “All solid out here, but here—­hollow as a drum.  It’s—­it’s a stovepipe hole, that’s what ’tis.  There was a stove here one time or ’nother and the pipe hole was papered over.”

“But—­but what of it?” whispered Thankful.  “I don’t care about stovepipe holes.  It’s that dreadful noise I want to locate.  I hear it now, just as plain as ever.”

“Where could a stovepipe go to from here?” mused the captain.  “Not into the kitchen; the kitchen chimney’s way over t’other side.  Maybe there was a chimney here afore the house was moved.”

“But the snoring?” faltered Emily.  “Don’t you hear it?”

Captain Obed put his ear against the covered stovepipe hole.  He listened and as he listened his face took on a new expression, an expression of sudden suspicion, then of growing certainty, and, a moment later, of huge amusement.

He stepped down from the chair.

“Stay right where you are,” he ordered.  “Don’t move and don’t make any noise.  I’ll be right back.”

He hurried out.  They waited.  The snoring kept on and on.  Suddenly it ceased.  Then, in that very room, or so it seemed, sounded a grunt and a frightened squeal.  And then a voice, a hollow voice which cried: 

“Ahoy, all hands!  I’m the ghost of Nebuchadnezzar’s first wife and I want to know what you folks mean by wakin’ me up.”

The three in the back bedroom looked at each other.

“It’s Captain Bangs!” cried Emily.

“It’s Obed!” exclaimed Thankful.

“He’s found it,” shouted Kendrick.  “Come on.”

The captain was not in the kitchen when they got there.  He had gone out of doors, so Imogene said.  Unmindful of the rain they rushed out and around the corner, behind and below the washshed.  Patrick Henry was running about his pen, apparently much disturbed, but Captain Obed was not in sight.

“Where is he?” demanded Thankful.  “Where’s he gone to?”

“Hello there, John!” cried a voice from the darkness at the rear of the pigsty under the kitchen.  “Come in here.  Never mind your clothes.  Come in.”

John vaulted over the rail of the pen and disappeared.  A few moments later he came out again in company with the captain.  Both were laughing heartily.

“We’ve got the answer,” puffed Captain Obed, who was out of breath.  “We’ve laid the ghost.  You remember I told you that day when we first explored this place that old Laban Eldredge had this pigpen built.  Afore that ’twas all potato cellar, and at one time afore the house was made over there must have been a stove in that back bedroom.  There’s no chimney, but there’s cracks between the boards at the back of that pigpen and any noise down here goes straight up between the walls and out of that stovepipe hole like a speakin’ tube.  You heard me when I spoke to you just now, didn’t you?”