"Poor man! he probably
has a hard time making a living."
"Don't you believe it!" declared Will. "To my way of thinking, he's a
faker. He looked plump and well-fed enough. I warrant you he has no lack
of good food. Those fellows put about ten cents worth of alcohol in a
bottle, a little perfume and some water, and sell it for a dollar as
hair-tonic."
"Well, really some of that stuff must be awful!" exclaimed Grace. "I'm
glad I never use it."
"You never have to--nature was good to you," murmured Frank in her ear,
whereat Grace blushed.
Mollie glanced back toward Shadow Valley. The gloom over it was
increasing, and at the far end could just be discerned the deserted
mansion--the remnant of a rich man's folly. About that, too, the shadows
seemed to gather, dark and foreboding.
"Ugh! That place gives me the creeps!" Mollie muttered. And against the
dusky background of the valley and the old mansion she beheld the figure
of the rather mysterious peddler. His white locks stood out in strange
contrast to the surrounding darkness, and his black clothes.
"It certainly looks as though it might be haunted," agreed Betty. "Poor
Mr. Lagg! I'm afraid he will never get the money he expects out of that
place. It would never do for a sanitarium for nervous wrecks."
"Oh, I don't know," answered Will. "I've been close to it several times,
and, I think, by cutting down some of the trees that keep out the
sunlight, a good view could be had.
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