“You think it’s haunted?” 

 “I didn’t say so,” responded George somewhat warmly. “I merely said it is a common report that it is a haunted house. I’m just telling you what happened one night when I ran in there to get out of a storm.” 

 “Poor old house,” said George thoughtfully, as he looked back at the old building, which still could be seen in the distance. “It makes me think of Uncle Sim. He’s the last leaf on the tree and I guess this is the oldest house in this part of the country.” 

 Uncle Sim was an aged negro, who for many years had been in the employ of George’s father. His labor was no longer efficient, but his faithful services in the years that were gone had caused Mr. Sanders to provide for the wants of the gray-haired negro. Uncle Sim’s form was bowed with the weight of years which he carried and his trembling limbs showed how much he had suffered from the “mis’ry.” Indeed, the boys had become convinced that there was no topic concerning which the old man loved to talk as he did concerning his various aches and pains. 

 In spite of his afflictions, however, Uncle Sim was a warm friend of the boys. When they got into mischief Uncle Sim’s face was lifted heavenward so that he was unable to see any of the pranks they committed and therefore was unable to impart any information when he was asked as to his knowledge of their deeds. He was a great favorite of the boys and many of his stories had been familiar to them from their earliest childhood. He knew why the red squirrel and the black hated each other so intensely. He was well informed concerning the perpetual warfare that existed between the dogs and cats on the farm. The call of the bluejays was in a language which Uncle Sim claimed to understand. And although he did not talk back to the chattering jays, nevertheless he strongly believed that they were much more guarded in their conversations when he was nearby. 

 “You go ask Uncle Sim if the house is haunted,” repeated George. “He’ll tell you what he thinks and you won’t have to wait very long for him to do it, either.” 

 “Has he never been there?” asked Fred. 

 “You’d better ask him,” declared George. 

 “What do you honestly think about it yourself, George?” said Grant more seriously. 

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