Chapter II: Part 2

Ronnie washed out his plate and glass and put them away. Then he left the house. The sun was hardly over the treetops, and the grass still sparkled with early morning dew. A fine haze streaked the horizon, and the boy knew it was going to be hot before the day was over. He cut through the orchard, slid down the embankment, and cut into the forest where the buildings of the village were scattered.

On the cobbled road he paused and whistled shrilly, a signal to Bill. He listened, but no answer came back to him. Well, he’d wait for Bill by the boarded-up house.

He cut down the side path to the building. The bare earth, where the leaves had blown away, was damp from the night dew, and his bare feet padded noiselessly along. He broke out into the small clearing that faced the front of the building and stopped abruptly.

For a second he had thought the figure moving hurriedly away from the rear of the building was Bill, and he had been just about to whistle a greeting. Now he saw that it was a man, and while he could only see a portion of his shoulders and head, he thought of Mr. Caldwell, the man who had driven into the village the day before. “Hi, Mr. Caldwell!” he yelled.

The man turned for an instant to face the boy, then whirled about and hurried into the woods.

The man’s face had been in the shadows for that single instant he had faced Ronnie, and the boy still wasn’t sure whether he was the man who had paid them the visit and promised to return for a talk with Mr. Rorth. Ronnie shrugged, as if to tell himself that it really didn’t matter. If it had been Caldwell, he’d explain his actions later.

Ronnie decided to take a quick swing around the building to see if he could find anything that might tell him about the light he had seen the evening before. The rusty lock, snapped in place three or four years before when Grandfather had abandoned his search, was still in place. The window shutters were as tightly closed. Everything looked perfectly normal.

“Strangest thing ever,” he said to himself. He was beginning to believe he _had_ been seeing things the night before.

He spied a narrow crack where the shutter did not fit tight against the window frame, but it was a little too high to look through. But off in one of the thickets of hemlock saplings, he saw a fair-sized log. He grabbed hold of it, rolled it over beneath the window, and then wedged a smaller piece of wood under it to keep it from moving.

Holding onto the window frame for support, Ronnie climbed onto the log and placed his right eye against the crack. The room was dark except for the glow from a faint patch of light that found its way down the chimney flues.

The light, however, was sufficient for him to make a very puzzling discovery. Somebody, apparently, had spent the night sleeping in the boarded-up house! Spread out on the hearth was Mrs. Butler’s missing blanket. The stub of a candle was waxed securely to the floor, and a flashlight lay to one side.

“Hi, Ronnie!” he heard Bill’s voice behind him. “Gee, let me take a look inside too!”

Ronnie stepped down from the log. “Hi, Bill. I just discovered the queerest thing. You take a look and tell me what _you_ think.”

“Sure thing!” Bill was only too happy to comply. He climbed the log and, shielding his eyes, peered through the crack. A minute later he was down on the ground again facing Ronnie. “Looks like somebody’s been sleeping in there!” he exclaimed.

“Just what _I_ thought!” Ronnie agreed. “And that looks just like the blanket Mrs. Butler lost yesterday. I know it because it’s the one she uses when she takes her nap in the afternoon. I’d know that Indian blanket anywhere!”

“Well! Let’s go in and take a look around,” Bill exclaimed.

“In?” Ronnie was flabbergasted. “Why, I don’t know how _he_ got in! I just looked at the lock, and--and all the shutters are still nailed shut--I _think_.”

“Couldn’t be!” Bill started out on his own inspection tour. He joined Ronnie a few minutes later, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re right,” he said. “I couldn’t find any way to get in, either. You’d better tell your dad about this, Ronnie!”

“I’ll sure do that,” he said.

“And maybe your grandfather will open up and take a look inside to find out what’s going on.”

“Yea, sure.” Ronnie was still too deep in thought to pay much attention to Bill’s remarks. _How_ had the intruder gotten in? he asked himself over and over again. Mrs. Butler had hung the blanket on the line the day before, and now Ronnie was sure that it was inside the boarded-up building. But _who_ had put it there, and _how_ had he gotten inside?

The boys didn’t give up searching for an answer until they had re-examined the four walls and had even climbed to the roof for an inspection. “Maybe he went down the chimney!” Bill suggested.

“Don’t be silly!” Ronnie laughed. “Even a baby couldn’t get down there.” He peered over the top and looked down the flue. “Besides, the swifts’ nest is still there, and it would be broken if anyone had gone down.”

Just then Bill spied Phil coming down the cobblestone road. “Hey, Ron-_nie_. Hey, Bill,” Phil called out.

“Don’t let on what we’ve found inside,” Bill warned Ronnie. “It’s our secret--yours and mine. O.K.?”

Ronnie nodded. They went down the path to meet Phil, who had seated himself on a fallen log to wait for them to join him. He had cut himself a walking stick from a wild cherry tree and was busy paring ringlets and designs by stripping off the bark. The live wood showed through, a pale green.

“Thought you’d never get here,” he said without looking up from his work. “How’s the business coming?”

“We haven’t started yet.” Bill turned to Ronnie. “I was thinking last night that first off, we’ve got to have an office to work in, and where we can keep all our stuff.”

“That’s right!” Ronnie agreed.

“How about one of the workers’ cottages?” Phil suggested. “Gramps fixed up a couple of them and they’re still in good shape.”

Ronnie and Bill agreed, and the three set off down the cobbled road, crossed Goose Brook and struck out down the overgrown path that led to the row of workers’ cottages. Only two of them were still in good repair, the two on each end of the row that formerly contained close to a dozen. Of the rest, most had completely fallen to ruin. Only their foundations and chimneys were still standing. A few had walls, but the roofs were caved in and rotting.

The boys chose the one closest to the cobbled road and set to work cleaning it up. While Ronnie and Phil removed the debris that littered the floor, Bill ran home to get a broom and pail and mop.

By noontime the walls and floors had been mopped with water from the brook, a makeshift desk had been constructed from old lumber, and several rickety but serviceable chairs had been located in other buildings.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” Bill said, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, “even if it was just for a clubhouse. It’s real neat!”

Before leaving for lunch they agreed to return that afternoon and begin work on some of the items Ronnie had written on his list at breakfast that morning. “The road from the highway comes first,” he decided. “Then, cleaning up the buildings we’re going to use in our tour. Then, the sign.”

Phil groaned. “I just remembered,” he announced. “I’ve got a date with the hammock for the afternoon.”

When Ronnie came within sight of his own house fifteen minutes later, he recognized Mr. Caldwell’s station wagon parked near the back door. He’d already left Phil a good distance behind, so he began to run, afraid that he might already have missed something of importance.

Mr. Caldwell was in the barn, talking with Ronnie’s father. He looked up and smiled in the boy’s direction as Ronnie entered. “Hello, Ronald,” he said.

“Hi!” Ronnie answered.

Ronnie tagged along behind his father and Mr. Caldwell as they walked slowly from the barn and then stopped alongside Mr. Caldwell’s car for a few final words. Then Mr. Caldwell climbed into his station wagon and started the engine. Ronnie waved good-by.

“Dad,” he asked, following his father back to the barn, “what did he want?”

“Supposing you come up in the loft with me and help pile up the hay you knocked down the other day. Then I’ll be able to get the rest of it in after it’s finished drying on the fields. I’ll tell you about Mr. Caldwell while we work.”

Ronnie followed his father up the ladder. It was stifling hot in the loft. Mr. Rorth opened the two loft doors that faced onto the barnyard. Overhead a wasp darted angrily among the beams, droning like a model airplane.

Mr. Rorth picked up two pitchforks and handed one of them to Ronnie. “How come you’re so interested in this Mr. Caldwell?” he asked, starting to move some of the hay toward the rear of the loft.

Ronnie grinned. “I guess maybe because I’m just plain nosey!” he answered.

Mr. Rorth had gathered up a large pile of hay. Now he jabbed the tines of his fork underneath it and heaved the load to the top of the stack. Then he turned to face the boy. “Couldn’t ask for a more honest answer than the one you gave me, could I?” he queried. “I’ll say this, though, about the man,” he went on, more seriously, “I’ll say that I was impressed by the way he talked. He seemed genuinely interested in antiques, particularly glassware. And apparently he’s built up quite a name for himself as a connoisseur of old glass.”

Ronnie thought about what his father had just told him. “Dad, what’s a connoisseur?”

“A connoisseur? Well, he’s a person who knows a great deal about some special art subject. Caldwell got interested in glassware when he was a boy. It seems his family had a couple of pieces of Rorth glassware that had been handed down from one generation to the next. He started doing some research on them, and pretty soon he was studying up on all makes of glassware. Now he’s writing a book on early American glassware. He wants to include a few chapters about Rorth glass.”

Ronnie stopped work long enough to turn toward his father. “And is that why Caldwell came to see you?” he asked.

“Yes, in a way.” Mr. Rorth leaned lightly on the handle of his fork. “He wants to spend some time here poking around in the buildings and talking with your grandfather about the history of the Glassworks. He thought maybe he could bed down in one of the buildings in the village.”

“He _does_!” Ronnie exclaimed. “Golly, maybe he’ll help us set up our business, specially if he knows so much about glassware. Think he might, Dad?”

“Well, now, I don’t know. He’s coming here to learn more about it himself. But you ask him if you want.”

Ronnie went over to the opening of the loft and sat down on the edge with his feet dangling out over the barnyard. The perspiration was running down his body in streams, and he wanted to cool off. The hayseeds were sticking to his skin, too, and itching something awful.

His father came over and stood behind him, leaning on the handle of his fork, trying to catch a few puffs of the cooler air.

“When’s he moving in, Dad?” Ronnie asked.

“Right after lunch, I think. He went back to check out of the motel.”

“I wonder if he really slept in the motel last night,” Ronnie mused.

“Why do you ask that?”

“Because _somebody_ slept in the old office building, that’s why. And who else would it be excepting Mr. Caldwell?”

“That’s nonsense, Ronnie,” his father protested. “Why would Mr. Caldwell want to sleep in the old office building? And how would he get in without breaking down the door?”

“That’s what Bill and I were wondering too.”

Mr. Rorth shook his head slowly as if to say, “These kids!” and then picked up his fork and moved back to work. Ronnie got up and followed him. “Don’t you believe me, Dad?” Ronnie asked.

“Well,” Mr. Rorth said, grinning, “I’ll say I’m having a hard time believing you. For instance, how can you tell that a man slept there--what evidence do you have?”

“Well, there’s a little crack in the window, and Bill and I climbed up and looked through it. We saw the blanket Mrs. Butler was looking for last night.”

Mr. Rorth raised his eyebrows a bit and looked straight at Ronnie. “Well, that _is_ convincing.” He thought about it for a moment. “Tell you what, Ronnie. I’m going down to the village later this afternoon to see if Mr. Caldwell got settled all right. I’ll take a look at the old office building on the way.”

“The crack is in the south window and you can peek in through there.”

“Never mind the crack. I’ll bring the key--if that old lock will still turn. Last time I looked it was wrapped with a cloth to keep it from rusting.”

“Not any more it isn’t,” said Ronnie.

After lunch Ronnie gathered together some tools and lumber to use in building a sign for the highway. With these under his arms, he stopped by the grape arbor where Phil was lying in the hammock. “You coming down?” he asked, hoping he would so he could carry some of the load.

Phil eyed the lumber and tools. “I’ll be down after my siesta,” he said. “Nobody with any sense exercises during the heat of the day.”

By resting his load on the ground every few hundred feet, Ronnie reached their new office without too much trouble. Bill hadn’t shown up yet, so Ronnie stretched out in one of their chairs, making plans for the afternoon while he waited for his friend.

But after five minutes he grew restless and decided he’d kill some time by taking another peek through the shutter into the boarded-up building. He slipped out of the office and made his way toward the building. Soon he was standing on the log and peering through the crack.

“Oh, _no_!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Now what’s Dad going to think of me?”

The blanket, candle, and flashlight were no longer in sight.

_Chapter 6_

“That man,” Ronnie told himself again and again as he trudged back to their office, “that man I saw this morning running from the boarded-up house is the person who slept in there last night.” And “that man” had looked an awful lot like Mr. Caldwell, even seen from a distance and hidden somewhat by the early morning shadows.

Ronnie groaned. He sure did hate the thought of the teasing he’d get when his father inspected the building and found nothing there.

Bill was waiting for him when he reached their office building. “’Bout time you got here,” he said.

“I’ve been here,” Ronnie retorted. “I went over to take another peek into the boarded-up building. But I wished I hadn’t.”

“How come?”

Ronnie told him. Bill groaned too. “I told my pa about it, too, and he said he was going to call your pa on the telephone. Somebody’s made a monkey out of us for sure!”

“Well, _we_ know somebody slept there last night,” Ronnie announced stoutly. “Some mighty strange things are going on around here, let me tell you.” He decided to break down and tell Bill about the peculiar light he’d seen the evening before, and about the man who looked like Mr. Caldwell who had turned and run when the boy had shouted his name.

Bill gave a long, loud whistle of amazement. “Looks like we’ve got _two_ things to do this summer--save the village and solve this mystery, too.”

But within a few minutes they had forgotten the mysterious prowler. Armed with the pruning sheers and sickle that Bill had brought with him, they started clearing the overhanging branches from both sides of the dirt lane. A half hour later, when they were within sight of the main road, Mr. Caldwell’s station wagon turned off the highway and came toward them.

He stopped alongside the boys and poked his head out the window. “Hop in and I’ll drive you back in--that is, if you’re finished.”

Ronnie nodded and the two climbed into the front seat. “You’ve done a fine job of clearing the roadway,” Mr. Caldwell said. “You are going ahead with your tourist business, I take it.”

“Yes,” Ronnie answered, “how did you know about it?”

“Your father told me.” Mr. Caldwell swung off the dirt road onto the cobblestones. “Now, the question is--which building shall I occupy? Your father said I could have my choice.”

“How about one of the workers’ cottages?” Bill suggested. “We’re using one of them for our office, but there’s a real good one with a fireplace at the other end of the row.”

“Sounds like just what I’m looking for,” Caldwell agreed.

Ronnie and Bill helped Mr. Caldwell unload his suitcases and cardboard cartons from the rear of the station wagon and carry them into the cottage. Then they sat on the floor with their backs against a wall and watched him unpack.

Just about that time, Mr. Rorth drove up in his pickup truck. In the back he had a cot and mattress, blankets and sheets, a table and a few chairs, as well as some cooking utensils.

“These should make you comfortable,” he told Mr. Caldwell.

Ronnie walked back to the truck beside his father. “Now,” said Mr. Rorth, “let’s take a look at the evidence of this mysterious guest we’re supposed to be harboring in the old office building!”

Ronnie looked up sheepishly at his father. “It’s not there any more, Dad,” he said.

“Oh? So the ghost picked up his bedding and walked away, eh?”

“But it _was_ there this morning, Dad. Honest it was. Bill saw it too. He’ll tell you.”

Mr. Rorth stared at his son a moment, then laughed and climbed into the truck. Ronnie’s face was scarlet as he turned back to join Bill.

For the remainder of the afternoon the boys worked at cleaning up the gristmill and the general store. Phil joined them about three o’clock, but as usual he wasn’t much help.

Twice during the afternoon they took a breather to see how Mr. Caldwell was coming with his unpacking. On their final visit, Ronnie exclaimed, “Gosh, Mr. Caldwell, you’ve got this place looking just like home!”

“And that’s what it’s going to be for a couple of weeks. Who knows, I might just decide to stay on indefinitely!”

“Oh, but you couldn’t do that--not unless you want to be under water,” Ronnie explained.

Mr. Caldwell looked at Ronnie questioningly, not knowing whether to take the boy’s remark seriously or as some kind of joke. “Are you fooling?” he asked.

“Oh no. In a year or two, when they build the dams on the St. Lawrence Seaway, this’ll all be under water. Gramps is furious, but Dad says he can’t do anything about it.”

“What a pity. What a great pity!” Mr. Caldwell exclaimed. “I’m certainly glad I decided to come here when I did.”

Mr. Caldwell’s alarm clock showed four-thirty. Bill suggested that they start work cleaning up the main building where the glass had been manufactured and packed. “We’ll never get started showing people around at the rate we’re going,” he told Ronnie and Phil.

Ronnie, of course, didn’t need any convincing. He would work all night if it would step up their opening date. Phil tagged along reluctantly.

They managed to cart five or six loads of the larger debris from the building and dump it in the woods out of sight, and then Bill announced that it was probably time for him to get home. He had chores to do before supper, and so did Ronnie and Phil.

They walked back to the office together. Bill wanted to gather up his tools to take home. “I’ve got to be _sure_ to get these back,” he explained. “A couple of nights ago a saw and hammer and a couple of other tools disappeared from the barn, and Pa insists I took them and left them somewhere.”

“We haven’t been using any tools like that,” Ronnie said indignantly.

They walked down the cobbled road to where their paths separated. “You know,” Bill suggested, “we could work on the sign tonight and leave the cleaning up for the daytime. Think you could get away for a while after supper?”

“Sure,” said Ronnie. He turned to his brother. “Want to come too, Phil?”

Phil mumbled something about a television show.

When Ronnie got home, he pitched into his chores immediately. He chased the few remaining hens into the chicken house, filled their trough with water, and fastened the door shut. He stabled the horse and then watered and fed her. Then he went into the house to collect the garbage and trash to take to the dump for burning.

Returning from the dump, he caught sight of his father driving the tractor and pulling the mowers down the farm road from the fields. Ronnie cut through the triangle of alder bushes to meet him. “Say, Dad,” he asked, climbing up beside him, “could I go back down to the village after supper and work for a while with Bill? We’re going to make our sign to put out on the highway.”

“I don’t see why not. You pretty near ready to start your big business venture?”

“Just about, I guess.”

Mr. Rorth nodded his head in approval. “I was in town today and I happened to run into Steve Mercer. He’s president of the historical society. Told me that they’d written a letter to the Seaway saying their society’s violently opposed to any flooding of the village unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Ronnie’s heart leaped. “Maybe that’ll help us get permission to build the dam across the top of the valley.”

“It might,” his father agreed. A smile tugged at his lips. “Think you can raise that kind of money?”

“No,” Ronnie said honestly. “But it’ll get the ball rolling, and that’s what counts, Grandpa says.”

“And of course he’s right,” Mr. Rorth agreed. “Heaven knows I want to see the village spared as much as you and Gramps. But I can’t let the whole farm go to pieces in the meantime. You’ve got to be practical about these things.”

* * * * *

When Ronnie reached the office at eight o’clock, Bill was waiting for him. Bill had brought a kerosene lantern and it was already burning when Ronnie entered the door. Outside, the late evening shadows were deepening among the trees, and the peepers were piping down in the marshes along the river.

“Pa gave me a piece of plywood for our sign,” Bill announced, “and I brought some paint and brushes.”

They sat down at their improvised desk and composed the words they would letter on the sign:

Original Buildings and Furnaces
of One of America’s Renowned Glassworks
from the Last Century
Including a Haunted Building with a Strange History
Complete Tour: Adults--50¢ Children--25¢

“That ought to get their curiosity roused up!” Bill exclaimed when they had finished. “Now let’s get it laid out on the plywood.”

The time passed quickly for the two. Outside, the night closed in among the old buildings and the silent trees.

“Now that looks right nice!” Bill said at last standing back to survey the sign. “Looks almost like a real sign painter made it. Tomorrow, first thing, we’ll get it up on the road.”

Ronnie glanced at his wrist watch. “I’d best be getting on home. Nothing much more we can do tonight anyway.”

They picked up their flashlights, and then Bill blew out the lantern. The two stepped out into the night. The beams from the flashlights cut a solid lane down the path as they made their way toward the cobblestone road. Bill was in the lead. Suddenly he stopped and pointed off into the trees. “Look!” he whispered.

It was the light again, the same light Ronnie had seen last night from his bedroom window. Now that it was closer, he could make out more of the detail.

At first glance it seemed like some strange, unearthly cloud resting motionless over the top of the building. But Ronnie was quick to discover that what he really saw was the light striking the undersurface of the thick canopy of foliage that overhung the roof, setting the leaves aglow.

Ronnie moved closer to his friend and whispered, “Sure looks spooky, doesn’t it? First off it does, anyway.”

“Yea,” Bill answered, “sure does. Somebody must be behind the building, pointing a flashlight up into the trees.”

Ronnie shook his head. “Whoever’s doing it is _inside_ the building, poking around in the chimney. Otherwise you’d see the light in a circle.”

“Maybe you’re right. Let’s slip over and take a peek through the crack in the shutter.”

“I’m with you, boy!” Ronnie answered. “Let’s go!”

_Chapter 7_

Ronnie shivered. The shiver started at his shoulder blades, traveled down his spine, and made his flesh stand out in goose pimples. Just a few feet ahead, almost in the thick blackness that lay between the bushes along the path, he could make out Bill’s light-colored shirt. And at the end of the path lay the padlocked building with its strange halo of light still shimmering in the foliage over the roof.

As they drew closer, Ronnie could see that the light did come from the chimney as he had suspected. “Somebody poking a flashlight around in the chimney flues, all right!” he thought. But why? Was it just a trick to scare Bill and him away for some unknown reason, or was this intruder searching for something?

They were almost to the building when the light went out and the blackness closed in over the roof. Ronnie shivered again. The building seemed lonelier and more desolate than it had before.

Bill turned about and came close to Ronnie. “There’s somebody inside for sure!” he whispered. Ronnie could feel his friend’s breath against his cheek. “Listen. I can hear him walking around.”

Ronnie heard the sounds too--floor boards creaking under the intruder’s weight. “Come on,” he breathed, and taking his friend’s arm, steered him toward the side of the building.

The log was still in place below the window. Ronnie found a hold on the window frame and pulled himself up. He leveled his eye against the crack and peered inside.

Only a small portion of the interior came within his view, and the intruder, whoever he was, was out of range. But a portion of his flashlight beam was visible and lit up the fireplace and the hearth before it. Then the light shifted suddenly to the other side, stayed out of view for a moment, and then returned.

A moment later the light went out completely and the building was plunged into complete blackness.

Ronnie felt Bill tugging at his arm. “I hear something around back!” his friend warned. “Maybe he’s getting out.”

“But there’s no way out through the back,” Ronnie protested. Hadn’t Bill and he searched every square foot of the outside of the building? But then, the intruder had to enter and leave the building _somewhere_.

Ronnie stole another quick look through the crack before making up his mind. The interior was still pitch-black. “You stay here and watch the front and sides,” he directed Bill. “I’ll see what’s going on around back.”

Before Bill could protest, Ronnie had dropped from the log and was making his way toward the rear of the building. It wasn’t easy finding a way through the thick tangle of vines and bushes, but he didn’t want to risk giving his presence away by turning on the flashlight.

He rounded the corner of the building just in time to see the figure of a man step back, away from the rear wall of the old office. For a moment or two his face was silhouetted against a patch of sky. “Caldwell!” Ronnie called angrily before he realized what a foolish thing he was doing.

The man’s hand rose. A brilliant beam of light struck the boy full in the face, blinding him instantly. Then the light went out and the man sprang away into the darkness.

Burning with anger and disappointed from the stupid mistake he had made, Ronnie leaped wildly after him, and plunged into the undergrowth. He had taken no more than a few steps when he tripped over a log and hurtled headlong through the air. He landed with a jolt in a tangle of briars and his head smashed against a tree trunk. Whirling lights and brilliant flashes stood out before his eyes as he fought for consciousness.

The next thing he knew Bill was standing over him. “You all right, Ronnie?” Bill was asking. “Ronnie, you all right? Say something, can’t you?”

Ronnie struggled to sit up. The top of his head throbbed and he could feel a lump rising. “I--I guess I’m all right,” he said.

He tried to stand up. The trees, the sky, the building started to swing around before his eyes. He grabbed Bill’s hand for support.

Within a few minutes he felt better. Bill took his arm and helped him down the path. “Golly, I sure as shootin’ messed that up,” he said to Bill. Then he told his friend what happened.

“So you figure it was Mr. Caldwell?” Bill asked when Ronnie had finished.

“Well, I reckon I did _then_, or I wouldn’t have called his name. But, gosh, now I’m not so sure. It was plenty dark. What a fool I was yelling out to him. Boy, could I kick myself in the pants for being so stupid.”

“Yea,” Bill agreed, “yea, if you weren’t so woozy, I’d do it for you. But what do you say we pay Caldwell a hurry call? I think we can still beat him back to his cottage, seeing he’s got to detour around through the woods. Feel well enough to try it?”

Ronnie agreed that he did. Except for a slight throbbing in his head, he felt as well as he had before the accident.

They hurried down the cobblestone road, using their flashlights only when they needed them to find the way. They approached Caldwell’s cottage cautiously. Light was shining from the two windows that faced the path.

“Let’s take a peek in the window first,” Bill whispered. “You know--see what he’s doing before he gets wise that we’re here.”

They crept noiselessly to the window and peered over the sill. Caldwell was seated before a small table that held his typewriter and a kerosene lamp. He was busily at work.

Bill leaned over to whisper in Ronnie’s ear. “Boy, either he’s real sneaky or else he wasn’t ever out of the building,” he said. “He _looks_ as if he’d been at work for hours.”

“Maybe he has been,” Ronnie said. But if Caldwell wasn’t their man, why had he turned so instinctively when Ronnie had called out his name?

“Let’s go in and have a talk with him just the same,” Bill suggested. “But don’t let him know we suspect him of anything.”

Caldwell opened the door to them after Bill had knocked. “Well!” he exclaimed, motioning for them to come in. “How did you know I was just itching for a little company?”

The two boys sat down on the edge of his cot.

Caldwell turned his chair away from his typewriter to sit facing them. “What are you doing down here at this time of the night?”

“We were working on our sign,” Bill answered.

“I thought I saw a light coming from your office windows, and I was thinking about going down to investigate earlier. But I got so wrapped up in my work I just never got around to it.”

Ronnie glanced over at Bill to find his friend looking at him too. Bill was thinking the same thing, evidently. Caldwell was claiming that he hadn’t left his cabin all evening. That didn’t prove a _thing_, of course, Ronnie realized. In fact, Caldwell might have told them this just to cover his movements.

Mr. Caldwell got up and crossed over to his “kitchen” and returned with a box of crackers. “I can’t offer you much, but perhaps you’ll have a few crackers?”

“Thanks,” Bill answered taking several. “We can’t stay much longer. I’ve got to be getting back home soon.”

A miller moth made a dive-bomb attack at the lamp. Caldwell picked up a folded newspaper he had handy and swatted the insect. The lamp swayed precariously and the moth flew off unharmed.

“Dad’s got some old screens in the barn,” Ronnie said.

“I’ll bet you they could be made to fit the windows. Might even be a screen door. I’ll ask him about putting them up.”

“You just get them to me--along with some tools--and I’ll do the putting up, gladly!” the man answered.

Bill stuffed the last cracker into his mouth. “We’d better be getting along right now.”

Mr. Caldwell came to the door with them. “If I can help you with your tourist business in any way, just say the word. You’re welcome to use any of the information I’ve gathered when you’re talking about the village.”

“Thanks, Mr. Caldwell,” Ronnie answered. “We just might take you up on that. I’ve been thinking maybe we’d mimeograph a little booklet about the place.” He turned to Bill. “We could use the Grange mimeograph, and the paper wouldn’t cost much. We could tell all about the Glassworks and life in the village in the olden days and--”

“And the mysterious locked-up office building,” Bill added, picking up the idea with great interest, “and even about those old glass candlesticks of your grandfather’s, Ronnie!”

“Candlesticks!” exclaimed Mr. Caldwell. “_Rorth_ candlesticks?”

Ronnie nodded.

“They must be worth a great deal,” Caldwell said. “What do they look like?”

Ronnie described them. Caldwell nodded slowly as Ronnie brought out detail after detail. “I’d certainly like to see them sometime,” he said when Ronnie had finished.

“Come on up to the house any time,” Ronnie offered. “I’m sure Grandpa would be glad to show them to you.”

When they were alone outside, Bill turned to Ronnie. “You know,” he said, “I think Caldwell is kind of a swell guy. I just can’t believe he’s the one sneaking around the village and running off when we catch sight of him.”

Ronnie thought about this after he had left Bill and was hurrying up the steep incline to the orchard above. Was Bill right about Mr. Caldwell? There were arguments for and against. That silhouette of the man’s face against the night sky, for instance. Ronnie had tried again and again during the evening to convince himself that he had been wrong when he had called out Caldwell’s name. But somehow he just couldn’t do it. And he couldn’t forget what had happened that morning! It had been daylight then. Was it just a coincidence that _both_ times Caldwell’s name had come to his mind?

He’d talk to Gramps about it, that’s what he’d do. But when he arrived home he found the door to his grandfather’s room closed and no light showing from underneath.

He climbed the stairs and headed for his room. Phil was in his own room, in his pajamas, and lying on his bed with a pile of old comic books at his side. A wild idea hit Ronnie suddenly and he poked his head into Phil’s room. “Have you been in the house all evening?” he demanded. Maybe, just maybe, Phil was playing tricks on them and he had been in the padlocked house!

Phil looked at his brother in surprise. “What’s the matter--the heat got you or something? Sure I was here all the time.”

“OK. I was just wondering.”

Phil dropped his comic book and sat up. “Say, something real interesting must have happened to you down in the village, or you wouldn’t be putting me on the witness stand. Come on, out with it.”

“Nothing happened. You’re imagining things, that’s all.” Ronnie hurried down the hall, hoping that Phil wouldn’t have the energy to follow him.

Phil didn’t. Ronnie ducked into his room and closed the door. Then he went over to the window and looked out.

The valley was in complete darkness. Even the lights in Mr. Caldwell’s cottage were out. The deserted village was asleep.

_Chapter 8_

After breakfast the following morning Ronnie looked for Gramps in his room, but there was no sign of him there nor anywhere about the house. It was Mrs. Butler who told Ronnie where his grandfather had gone. “Why, seems to me I saw him headed out the door a while back,” she said. “Went off toward the orchard, I’d guess.”

Ronnie took off after his grandfather. He found him sitting on a rock at the top of the bluff and looking out over the valley and the deserted village.

“Hi, Gramps,” Ronnie greeted him.

“Well, now, boy, come set a spell with me. My old legs won’t let me get down there in the village any more, but by golly, they can’t keep me from sitting here and looking.”

“Gramps?”

Grandfather shifted his position by leaning heavily on his cane. He faced Ronnie. “Boy, you’ve got something on your mind, and don’t tell me you haven’t because I’ve come to know when you’re troubled.”

Ronnie nodded. “There’s something going on down in the village that I’m all mixed up about.”

“You’re darned tootin’ there’s something going on down there!” the old man retorted. “Those Seaway people plotting and scheming to take the village away from me. I know what’s going on.”

“Not that, Gramps. Something else.” Ronnie went on to tell him about the blanket and the candle he had seen through the crack in the shutter, and about the strange light that had startled Bill and him the night before. He told Gramps about the mysterious prowler too.

“Gramps,” he concluded, “do you suppose it’s got anything to do with the secret of the boarded-up building? Maybe there’s something hidden there that this man is looking for.”

Grandfather looked at Ronnie sharply. “What man?” he demanded.

Ronnie looked away. “I don’t know who it was,” he answered.

“Come on, boy. Speak up if you know!”

“Really, Gramps. I’m not sure. I don’t want to say until I’m real sure.”

Grandfather didn’t press the point. “Ronnie,” he said, “this village has been the love and joy of my life. But lately it’s just as if--just as if the prophecy were meant to come true.”

“What prophecy, Gramps?” Ronnie asked. “Is that what the secret’s all about?”

“Yes, in a way, I suppose.” The old man looked out over the valley and then back to the boy. “I reckon the time has come when you must hear the story. It can’t die the way I’d hoped it would. The past won’t let it.”

Gramps took out his pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket. He filled the bowl of the pipe and placed the stem between his yellowed teeth.

“Turn your mind back, boy, to what I was telling you the other evening when we were talking about the candlesticks.” He lit a match and drew heavily on the stem of the pipe until the tobacco glowed crimson. Then he exhaled the blue smoke in a cloud that rose over his head. “I told you about your great-great-grandfather Ezra and his partner Jacob Williams, if you’ll recollect. This Williams fellow was a kind of no-good scoundrel, from everything I’ve heard tell, and why Ezra got bamboozled into such an arrangement, nobody’ll ever know. Took him in as a full partner he did, lock, stock, and barrel, or in other words--Glassworks, land, and merchandise.”

“Then half this land doesn’t really belong to us, Gramps? Is that right?”

“Yep, I reckon so, if there’s anyone around to claim it. I’ll come to that later. Well, anyway, these two partners seemed to have gotten along well for a number of years. The business flourished. Rorth glassware got to be known practically around the world. Then around 1886 or thereabouts, things started worsening up, and by 1888 the company was well-nigh bankrupt. Now this Jacob Williams, who was keeping the books, finally got around to telling your great-great-grandfather how bad things were, and darned if he didn’t accuse Ezra of milking the company dry. Yep, he claimed Ezra had been stealing quantities of money and glassware from the company. And this Williams didn’t stop at that. He spread it all around the neighborhood, and pretty soon people began to believe it was true.”

“But it really wasn’t, was it, Gramps?” Ronnie asked anxiously.

“Can’t really answer that because it’s never been proven one way or the other. But maybe when you hear the rest of what happened, you’ll understand it a mite better. Now one day in June of 1889 Jacob Williams disappeared. Of course, everybody started saying Ezra had done away with him to keep him from accusing Ezra of the thefts. And I guess there was some evidence to make people believe it, too. First of all, more money and glassware were missing. Then there was this man, John Sutton, a worker at the Glassworks, who testified that he’d heard Ezra and Jacob Williams arguing and shouting at one another. Then, when he passed by the building again later, he claims he heard Jacob screaming for help. He didn’t go in, figuring it was none of his business, but later on he got to thinking about it, and went back. There was no sign of Ezra or Jacob Williams. Fact is, that was the last anybody ever heard of Jacob Williams. Old Ezra made a search for his partner--even put notice of a reward in the paper for anybody sending news of him. It was like the earth had swallowed Jacob--him and the money and the missing glassware.”

Grandfather tamped his pipe with a leathery thumb and continued. “Well, boy, people here put two and two together, and there began to be talk. When people begin to talk, they make things bigger and meaner. Old Ezra had killed Jacob to cover up his own thefts and he’d hidden the body somewhere. Search parties went over every square foot of the village, but they didn’t turn up a clue. Well, no matter, people said, Jacob Williams’ curse was on the Rorth family until Jacob’s death was avenged.”

Grandfather puffed hurriedly at his pipe to start up the dying coals. “But what happened to Great-great-grandfather Ezra?” Ronnie asked.

“The case came before the grand jury, but the jury failed to indict Ezra. There wasn’t proof of anything, really. So Ezra was freed, but people didn’t stop accusing him for a long time. Some even tried to find Jacob Williams’ son, then a man in his late twenties, to persuade him to come back and avenge his father’s death. But he wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“Then came reports of people who claimed they’d seen Jacob Williams’ ghost near the old office building, and there were those who said the ghost had cried out that he’d never stop haunting the Rorth family until his death was avenged. Funny thing was, though--no Rorth ever saw this ghost!”

“Which just proves the whole thing’s a phony!” Ronnie exclaimed. “Who believes in ghosts, anyway?”

“No one--excepting maybe those who haven’t gotten a proper education. But there’s more to this story. A few years after Williams disappeared, an epidemic of typhoid struck the village. Probably came from drinking the water out of Goose Brook. Anyway, lots of people died and the rest left like rats from a sinking ship. Soon there were only Ezra and his family left. He sent them away, too, while he stayed behind to close up. The Glassworks never opened again. When Ezra’s wife and my father returned, they had the office boarded up tight and padlocked, and I guess it was never opened until I went in there five or six years ago.”

“You were hunting for something, weren’t you, Gramps?”

“Yep.”

“Something that would prove Ezra didn’t harm his partner?”

“Yep, that’s right. It was a terrible blot on the family name. I couldn’t stand the thought of it. But all my searching proved nothing. I’m afraid the evidence--if there is any--will be covered by the floodwaters when they come.”

“_Now_ who’s the one giving up without a fight?”

Grandfather smiled down at Ronnie. “You’re right, boy. That wasn’t a Rorth talking then, but a discouraged, old man.”

Ronnie looked down into the valley. The thin mists that had settled in the lowlands during the night were dissipating now under the hot sun. “Gramps, do you think this man I saw is hunting for evidence too--the way you were?”

Grandfather thought over the question for a moment or two. “Nope, I don’t think so, Ronald. More’n likely--if he’s hunting for anything at all--he’s after the money and glassware that was stolen. There’ve been others before him.”

“Gramps?” Ronnie asked again. “What finally happened to Great-great-grandfather Ezra?”

“Well, when my father and mother returned after the epidemic was over, they found him in the office building. He was dead from the typhoid. But everyone said it was Jacob’s ghost that did it.”

The old man grasped the head of his cane with both hands and pulled himself to his feet. He stood for a minute with the hot breeze ruffling his snow-white beard and hair while he looked down into the valley. His sharp eyes darted from one building to another and finally rested upon the old, padlocked building.

“The answer’s in there somewhere,” Ronnie heard him say, although the wind tried to take his words away. “I hope the good Lord will let me live long enough to see it found.” He turned to face the boy. “Ronnie,” he said, “Ronnie, your father’s in town now, but when he comes back tonight, you tell him I said he’s to let you have the keys to the Rorth office building. You and this friend of yours take a good look around inside and maybe you can find what this man is doing in there. And maybe your keen, young eyes will find what I’ve failed to find all the times I looked.”

“Sure, Gramps!” Ronnie’s eyes lit up with excitement. “You bet we’ll find something to prove Great-great-grandfather Ezra didn’t harm Mr. Williams. And maybe we’ll find the glassware--and the money too!”

Grandfather was looking down into the valley again. “Went through every paper in the place,” he was saying, not waiting for Ronnie to finish talking. “Hundreds of them. But not a clue. Not a single clue. Just old bills and statements and records. Put them all back in the files, I did, just the way I found them. But somewhere in that building there’s an answer. I’m convinced of that.”

He drew himself up tall and breathed in deeply and squared his shoulders. “We aren’t licked yet. No, sir, not by a long shot! Now, boy, how about helping an old man back to the house?”

_Chapter 9_

“Now we’re officially in business!” Ronnie exclaimed. He stowed the spade he had been carrying in the corner of their office and dropped into a chair. His hair was wet with perspiration and beads of it were rolling down his face and stomach. “That’s the hardest ground I’ve ever had to dig a hole in,” he added, fanning himself with a newspaper.

The boys had just finished erecting the sign alongside the highway. Layers of coarse gravel and heavy blue clay had made the job of digging difficult. But, as Bill had said, they wanted the sign planted plenty deep so the first heavy wind wouldn’t carry it away. “Who knows,” he had added, “we may want it there a long, long time!”

On their way back from the highway, Ronnie had told Bill everything that Grandfather had said about old Ezra Rorth. Bill said nothing until they reached the office. “Ronnie,” he said then, “Ronnie, this afternoon you bring the key to the padlocked building with you, you hear? We’ve got business to attend to in there!”

“You bet we have,” Ronnie agreed. “Once we find out who this man is who’s sneaking around the village--and _why_ too--maybe we’ll get to the bottom of all these shenanigans.”

Bill nodded. “We’ll search the building from top to bottom, and maybe we’ll have more luck than your grandfather did. Maybe we’ll clean up this mess around your family name.”

“I _know_ my great-great-grandfather didn’t harm Jacob Williams or steal anything, either. I just know it.”

“Sure, Ronnie, sure, but we’ve got to prove it. And that isn’t going to be easy, not after all these years have passed. But we’ll do it. Every minute we’ve got when we aren’t showing people around, we’ll use to hunt for clues. And the first thing we do is search that old office building, so don’t forget to bring the keys.”

Ronnie sprawled a little lower in his chair and watched a drop of perspiration run down over a fold of skin on his stomach. Bill, he knew, wanted to hunt for clues immediately, but it was just too hot to move. It all seemed like such a tremendous, almost impossible job. Hadn’t Grandfather tried and failed?

A moment later Phil sauntered into the building and plunked himself down in the one remaining chair. “I don’t know why I killed myself coming down here,” he sighed.

“I don’t see why you did either,” Ronnie commented with a smile. “All you did was move from the hammock to that chair. You shouldn’t exert yourself so much.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” said Phil.

A horsefly buzzed angrily across the ceiling and slammed into the wall. It fell dizzily for a few feet and then regained its balance. Off it went in the opposite direction and slammed into the other wall. “Crazy critter,” Phil commented. “See how he’s exerting himself--and where does it get him?”

Before Ronnie could think of an appropriate answer, there were footsteps on the path and Mr. Caldwell popped his head in the door. He entered and perched himself on the edge of the desk. “I’m going up to your house this afternoon to take a look at those candlesticks,” he told Ronnie. “From the description you gave me I’d say that the pair I have at home are identical.”

The horsefly suddenly stopped buzzing and the office seemed strangely quiet. Ronnie sat up and looked at Mr. Caldwell, his mouth hanging open just a bit. “Did--did you say you--you had a pair of candlesticks like Gramps’?”

“Yes.” Mr. Caldwell looked puzzled. “Is that so strange?”

Ronnie gulped and nodded. “Yes, sir. It is.”

“I don’t see why. There were probably quite a few pairs turned out during the years the Glassworks was in operation.”

Ronnie opened his mouth to protest, and closed it again. There was plenty of time to tell Mr. Caldwell what he knew. He decided to play it safe for the time being. “Yes,” he answered, “yes, I suppose there _could_ be quite a few around, if they haven’t been lost or destroyed.”

A car drew up in the improvised parking lot and came to a stop. Ronnie, looking out the window, saw a man, woman, and two boys leave the car and start toward the office. Ronnie and Bill went out to meet them.

“We’d like to take the tour. Are there guides?”

“Yes, sir,” Ronnie answered. “We’d be glad to take you about.”

The man looked first at Ronnie and then at Bill. He seemed a bit skeptical. “Well, all right,” he said finally. “Where do we begin?”

Ronnie and Bill led them down the path to the cobblestone road. “This is the original road that ran through the center of the village,” he told them. “Some of the cobblestones have been replaced from time to time, but mostly it’s just the way it used to be. Mules used to pull cartloads of sand along this road to be used in making the glass.”

They swung off the cobblestone road and approached the two-story building beside Goose Brook. Bill, slipping up beside Ronnie, whispered: “Hey, you’re doing all right!”

“Now this was the gristmill where all the wheat from the surrounding fields was ground into flour. That overshot water wheel you see there was in running order when my grandfather was a boy. He says our family still used it to grind the grain.”

They visited the main building where the glass had been made and blown. From here they moved to the general store, the blacksmith shop, the smith shop, the carriage buildings, and the workers’ cottages. This brought them in a circle back to their office.