What made the wailing sound still more frightful was the fact that it all seemed a part of the wind that was now rising gradually.

And the clearly uttered, sepulchral words made it all real enough.

The wind never talks in words.
Again came the wailing, though this time without words.
"I never believed there were such things as real ghosts," declared Harry Hazelton.
"Then you're a fool.

Everybody knows that there are ghosts--and they're fine people that do noble work!" proclaimed chattering Hen from under the weight of clothing.

He was trying to win the favor of the ghosts.
"If there are any ghosts around here I wish one of 'em would pick you up in a sheet, take you away and drop you in your own home in Gridley," declared Tom, becoming decidedly irritated by this babyish imitation of a boy.
"Oh, please don't say that!" begged Hen piteously.