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to the library. Many were donated or purchased a long time ago, so I doubt they belong to Seymour.”
    Mrs. Hathaway carefully took Joshua’s letter out of the display case. “I will go out to the farm myself to return this to Seymour,” she told the Aldens. “Please tell him I’ll visit tonight when I’m off duty.”
    Henry nodded. “We’ll tell him.”
    “I must also let the antique store know about this,” Mrs. Hathaway said.
    “We’d like to talk to this antique dealer, too,” Henry said.
    “That’s probably a good idea,” Mrs. Hathaway remarked. “Seymour is indeed lucky to have you as houseguests.”
    “While we’re here,” Violet began shyly, “would it be all right if we looked through these other old letters? We would love to read more about Gideon’s time.” She nodded in the direction of the display case.
    “Well, I suppose you could, if you’re very careful with them,” the librarian answered, looking suspiciously at Benny.
    “We will be,” Henry assured her.
    With the librarian’s permission, the Aldens moved the contents of the display case to a reading table so they could study the old maps and letters more closely.
    “Look, here’s the Curtis farm,” Henry said, pointing at an old map. “They sure had a lot of land in the old days,” he said. “Look, they had all the land that now belongs to the Browns — you know, the farm we passed on the way to town.”
    “That’s interesting,” Jessie said thoughtfully. “Maybe they had to sell some of their land off because they needed the money.”
    “Look at this. Here’s an old drawing of Chassell in 1890. It looks pretty much the same,” Violet remarked as she carefully handed the drawing to Henry.
    “Yeah, except you don’t see too many horse-drawn carts in the street now,” Henry joked. “Also, the streets weren’t paved then.”
    “Here’s a picture of the old library when it was a house with a family in it.” Violet handed the yellowed photograph to Jessie.
    “Look, there are some Curtises in the picture,” Violet said, pointing at the caption.
    The Aldens were so intent on their research, none of them noticed the tall man with blond hair and a beard who approached their table. He had been listening to their conversation ever since they had begun talking to the librarian. Finally he cleared his throat.
    Violet looked up, startled. “Pardon me,” the man said. “I’m Blake Ambrose.”
    The Aldens nodded politely. The name was not familiar to them.
    “I’m the author of numerous mysteries and horror stories,” the man continued, looking a little disappointed that the Aldens had never heard of him. “My newest book is set in a small nineteenth-century New England village, much like Chassell.”
    The Aldens nodded politely. “Is that why you’re in this library?” Benny wanted to know.

    “Well, yes,” the author answered. He acted as if Benny had asked a very stupid question. “I’m doing some research on this town. And I, uh, couldn’t help overhearing your earlier conversation with Mrs. Hathaway. I could perhaps help you in your research. You see, I am an expert on early American history.” Mr. Ambrose stood up very straight as he said this.
    Jessie looked at him a little suspiciously but did not say anything.
    “How long have you been staying with the Curtises?” Mr. Ambrose wanted to know.
    “Not that long,” Violet answered vaguely. “Do you know them?”
    “The Curtises are an old New England family. I’ve been reading about them here. Are you going to be staying out at their orchard a long time?”
    “A couple of weeks,” Henry answered.
    “Have you discovered any skeletons in the closet?” the author joked.
    “What?” Benny looked puzzled.
    “You know, old family secrets.”
    “Well, we’re trying to find out more about what life was like in the ghost’s time,” Benny answered, not noticing Jessie’s warning look.
    “Oh, you mean Joshua,” the author replied with a