The Go Ahead Boys and the Mysterious Old House Part 1

The Go Ahead Boys and the Mysterious Old House.

by Ross Kay.

PREFACE

In almost every rural community in the older parts of our country there is a house which some of the country folk have believed to be "haunted."

As a rule this house is old and perhaps has fallen into partial decay.

The children pa.s.sing on the country road move to the opposite side when they draw near the building. Stories are current of scenes which have been witnessed and sounds heard in the vacant dwelling. Perhaps even the older people have not altogether outgrown their feeling of timidity when they are near it. How baseless all such stories are and how easily most of the unusual sights and sounds can be accounted for is of course clearly understood. In this story I have tried to interest my young readers in the attempts of four normal, go-ahead boys to solve the mysteries connected with a venerable house near the home of one of them, which was shunned by many of the simple country people. I have endeavored to avoid all sensationalism and yet to interest the boys and girls in a stirring story of the experiences of my heroes. I am not without hope that the final solution of the mystery of the old Meeker House may help my young readers a little more courageously to face other problems, perhaps equally mysterious or perplexing, which may be presented to them in other forms. At all events I sincerely hope that the spirit and determination of the Go Ahead Boys will remain in their minds after the story itself shall have long been forgotten.

--Ross Kay

CHAPTER I-THE OLD MEEKER HOUSE

"Do you see that house?"

"You mean that low, old house on the corner of the road?"

"Yes."

"What of it?"

"Well, that's one of the oldest houses in this part of the country."

"It looks the part. How old is it?"

"It's at least one hundred and seventy-five years old."

"It's old enough to look better, then. Is that one of the houses that Washington slept in?"

"I guess so."

"It must be, from the stories you have told me since I have been here.

How old was Washington, anyway, when he died?"

"He was in his sixty-eighth year."

"I think there's some mistake about that."

"No, sir. Those are the correct figures. He was born in 1732 and he died in 1799."

"I'm not going to dispute you, George. I'll take your word for it, but it always seemed to me that Washington's age must have been a good deal greater than the histories say it was."

"Why?"

"Because he slept in so many houses. I have figured it up and if he had spent about a quarter of an hour in every one of the houses that you say he slept in, it will figure out that he was a good deal more than sixty-seven years old. Indeed, I have begun to think that Methuselah was an infant-in-arms compared with George Washington, if ten per cent of the stories you have been telling us are true. By the way, how old was Methuselah, anyway?"

"'And all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred and sixty and nine years and he died.'"

"Well, poor old man, I should have thought he would have been ready to die. Just think of it, having to live in this world almost a thousand years! I wonder how his hearing was and if he could see straight. I have always thought that no matter how long I might live I should want people to feel when I came to die that I had a little more of a record than born in 1899 and died some time in the future."

"That's the best thing some men ever did."

"What?"

"Why, to die. They'd give up their places to others who could fill them better."

"What's all that got to do with that old house?"

"Nothing. I didn't start to talk about Methuselah."

"That's all right, but what about this house?"

"It's haunted."

A hearty laugh went up from the three boys who were the companions of George Sanders in his automobile.

The conversation which has been recorded had been carried on by George Sanders and his friend Fred b.u.t.ton. These two boys, together with John Clemens and Grant Jones, were close friends and schoolmates. Although they were nearly of the same age they were markedly different in their appearance. Fred, who was the pygmy of the party, was a little, round-faced, bright-eyed fellow, who was able to say quick and keen things and who was the inspiration of most of the pranks of which the band was guilty.

John Clemens was perhaps Fred's closest friend. He was six feet three inches tall, but he did not weigh very much more than the shorter Fred, who made up in breadth what he lacked in length.

Grant Jones, the most quiet and thoughtful member of the party, seldom entered into the wordy contests, although he took special delight in the pranks of his comrades.

George Washington Sanders was the owner of the automobile in which the four boys were riding.

The day was one of the most beautiful of early summer. In Northern New Jersey, not far from the border of New York State, George's father had an extensive farm. To this place from their early childhood the four friends had been accustomed to come from the great city and the many good times they had enjoyed there seemed to increase in number and quality with every succeeding summer.

Not all their summers had been pa.s.sed on the farm, however. There had been frequent trips, which the boys had taken to different parts of their own land and others. A few years before this time they had been accompanied by the father or uncle of one of the boys, who had acted as guardian and guide. On these various trips they had not only had many enjoyable times, but also many stirring experiences. Some of these adventures have already been told in other stories of this series.

Among themselves the boys frequently referred to the quartet as the Go Ahead boys. They had selected this name as one that was most expressive of their purposes. They had found it in the famous motto of Davy Crockett, who, years ago, was himself familiarly known as "Go Ahead"

Crockett.

On the day when this story opens they were on their way to George's farm. They had approached within a mile of their destination when their host had called their attention to the low building which commonly was referred to as the Meeker House. It was an unpretentious structure, containing a story and a half, with a lean-to or addition, that looked much as if it had been built as an afterthought, or as a postscript is added to a letter.

The sides of the building were weather-beaten and it was manifest that it had been long since any one had dwelt in the house.

"It seems to me, George," spoke up Fred, "that you're finding new historical places around the farm every summer. Let me see, what was it last summer?"

"You are doing better, Fred," laughed George. "You remember now that there was a last summer. I have sometimes been afraid you wouldn't remember even that much, but for your sake I'll tell you that last summer I told you the story of the young fellow who was captured in Ramapo Pa.s.s. He was Washington's messenger, you will remember, although he did not know it at the time."

"I do recall now," said Fred pompously, "some information you were kind enough to dole out to us. It seems to me that you told me that this young fellow was sent purposely by Washington down through the Ramapo Valley so that he would be captured by the British and taken to New York. If I'm correct he had a letter sewed inside the lining of his coat and this letter contained instructions for General Heath, who was at Morristown, to join him, that is Washington and not the boy, in taking New York."

"That's right. It all comes back to me, too," joined in Grant. "This fellow was taken to New York and he felt pretty mad at Washington. He could have found his way across the country all right, he thought, and would have given the message to General Heath without any trouble, but Washington insisted upon his going through to Ramapo Valley and of course he was caught. Poor chap, he didn't know that that was the very thing Washington was planning to do. He wanted him caught so that his letter would be found and Clinton wouldn't dare leave New York."