The Ghost of Popcorn Hill (2 page)

Nobody spoke. The caretaker opened the door and let the dog out into the aisle. She danced around Martin and Peter with excited little barks.

“What do you say, boys?” their father asked. “She looks as if she'd be happy to join the family.”

Martin and Peter crouched. The dog licked their faces. Then she sat in front of them and cocked her head.

“I call her Rosie,” the caretaker said. “My daughter Rose has freckles like that. Of course, you could call her anything you wanted.”

Martin and Peter and Rosie looked at each other.
She's a nice enough little dog
, Martin thought. He knew Peter was thinking the same thing. And if they didn't take this dog, they weren't going to get one.

“Hey, Rosie,” Martin said. “Do you want a ride in a truck?”

Rosie leaped into the air like a missile. She jumped on Martin and then on Peter, knocking him over. Her body trembled with excitement.

“I think you've got a dog,” the caretaker said with a grin. He led the way back to the office, and the Tracys followed with Rosie bouncing beside them.

“Good girl,” Martin told her. She really was a nice dog. He and Peter took turns petting her as they walked. They were careful not to look into the pens where the black Labrador and the silver German shepherd were still waiting for someone to claim them.

CHAPTER FOUR

A Surprise Visitor

Mrs. Tracy loved Rosie the minute she saw her. She gave the boys her old bathrobe to make a cozy bed next to the stove.

“I'll feel so much better having a dog in the house,” she said. “In case those prowlers come back again.”

That afternoon Martin and Peter tied a rope to Rosie's collar and took her for a walk around the hilltop. She sniffed every tree and peered under bushes, but mostly she ran along next to the boys and jumped on them.

“She likes us,” Martin said.

Peter didn't answer.

“We can teach her lots of tricks,” Martin added. “She's smart.”

“That German shepherd dog was smarter,” Peter said. “I could tell.”

When they returned to the cabin, they rolled a ball back and forth across the kitchen for Rosie to chase.

“I'd say she's great at chasing and pretty terrible at bringing back,” their father commented. He was getting ready to go to town again for his four-nights-a-week job at the supermarket.

“She's good at chewing, too.” Mrs. Tracy held up a letter that had fallen on the floor. It was ripped almost in two. “We'll have to be careful.”

After supper the boys carried a bag of garbage out to the pit at the end of the lot. Then they sat on a big rock and looked down at the apple orchard at the foot of the hill. Beyond it they could see the roof of the old deserted mill, and beyond that a little of the creek that wound around Popcorn Hill. The air was soft as silk.

“What's that?” Martin asked suddenly. Something was moving among the apple trees.

Peter grabbed his arm.

“It could be a deer,” Martin whispered.

“Maybe it's a wolf.” Peter slid off the rock. “Come on, Martin, let's go.”

“That's crazy,” Martin said. But he stood up too, just in case.

A moment later both boys gasped in surprise. A shaggy gray-and-white Old English sheepdog trotted out from under the trees and looked around. Even from this distance they could see that he was
big
.

Peter was the first to speak. “He's lost,” he said positively. “He needs friends. Come
on
, Martin.”

Together the boys hurried along the path that led down the hillside. There was something thrilling about the way the huge sheepdog stood there waiting. He seemed to be inviting them to join him.

But when they reached the bottom of the hill and Peter called, “Here, boy!” the dog darted away. He ran along the edge of the orchard, then doubled back and stopped.

“Come on, boy.” Martin held out his hand. This time the dog raced right past them, long hair flying. The boys started to follow, but the dog turned and darted in among the trees. He looked over his shoulder once, and Peter gave a crow of delight.

“He smiled at us!” he shouted. “Did you see!”

“Dogs don't smile,” Martin said. He pulled Peter to a stop. It was getting dark, and they could no longer see the sheepdog. Suddenly the orchard seemed lonely and the cabin a long way off.

“We'd better go back,” said Martin. “Mom will be worried.”

All the way up the hill, Peter kept talking about the sheepdog. “If he's lost, he needs a place to live,” he said. “That poor dog is all by himself.”

“We have a dog,” Martin reminded him. But he kept remembering how hopefully the sheepdog had looked at them.

“He could pull the wagon,” Peter said dreamily. “He's so big, he could pull
two
wagons. I really liked him.”

So did I
, thought Martin. Ahead of them, the lights of the cabin twinkled in the dark. Martin walked faster. “I'm going to teach Rosie to sit tonight,” he said. “It'll be her first lesson.”

“That sheepdog knows lots of tricks already,” Peter said. “I can tell.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Who's Going to Believe Us?”

“Oh, no!”

It was just before lunch the next day. Mrs. Tracy stood in the middle of the kitchen, a shredded dish towel in one hand and a badly chewed scrubbing brush in the other. “Bad girl!” she scolded.

“Bad girl!” Peter echoed.

Rosie flattened herself on the floor. Her tail swept back and forth across the linoleum, and her brown eyes were pleading.

“She didn't mean to hurt anything, Mom,” Martin said. “See how sorry she is?”

Rosie crossed her paws in front of her and looked so worried that Mrs. Tracy laughed in spite of herself.

“She's telling you it won't happen again,” Martin said.

But he was wrong. That same afternoon he found one of his brand-new sneakers chewed almost in two. This time he didn't laugh. He'd waited a long time for those sneakers.

“I bet that sheepdog wouldn't chew things,” Peter said in bed that night. He'd spent a good part of the day looking down at the orchard. “I wish he was our dog. Rosie is lots of trouble.”

Before Martin could answer, it happened.

“
Ho-ho-ho!
”

Peter gave a squeal of terror. Martin leaped out of bed and raced out into the kitchen.

“Dad! Mom!” His legs flew out from under him as Rosie hurtled to meet him, filling the air with her barks. They rolled across the floor, ending up at the open door to Mr. and Mrs. Tracy's bedroom.

Martin's father switched on a light and blinked down at Martin. “What in the world—”

“In there,” Martin gasped, pointing at his bedroom. “Someone's in there.”

Mr. Tracy dashed into the bedroom, with Martin, his mother, and Rosie close behind him.

“Peter!” Mrs. Tracy shrieked. “Where's Peter?”

“I'm here,” Peter said shakily. He pushed back the sheet that was covering his head and looked fearfully into the far corner of the room.

“Someone was over there in the corner, Dad,” Martin said. “We both heard him. He was laughing.”

“He was
what?
” Mr. Tracy sounded as if he couldn't believe he'd heard right.

“He was laughing,” Martin repeated. But he was a little uncertain now. There was no one in the room and no place to hide.

His father rubbed his forehead. “Well, I'm
not
laughing,” he said tiredly. “One of you is having a bad dream and scaring the other. Let's not have any more of that, okay?”

Martin swallowed hard. He climbed back into bed, and Mrs. Tracy kissed both boys good night. “I don't think it could have been a burglar,” she said comfortingly. “Rosie would have heard him.”

As soon as they were alone, Peter jumped out of his bed and climbed in with Martin. “I heard him,” he sniffled. “I did!”

“So did I,” Martin said. “But who's going to believe us? Nobody, that's who!”

CHAPTER SIX

The
Ho-Ho
Ghost

“I'm scared of ghosts,” Peter said. “Specially ones that laugh.” They were making their way down the path to the apple orchard.

Martin sighed. “Don't talk about it to anyone else,” he warned. “Dad won't believe us, and Mom is still worried about burglars, even though she says she isn't. I saw her looking for footprints outside our bedroom window this morning.”

“If we had a sheepdog, that ghost wouldn't come around,” Peter said. “He'd be too scared to.”

They had been wandering through the orchard for nearly an hour when suddenly the dog appeared. Once again he watched them for a moment, then ran away when they called to him. Martin and Peter chased him, but he was very fast.

“Let's start back,” Martin panted at last. “Maybe he'll follow us.”

To their delight, that was what happened. The sheepdog stayed about fifty feet behind them all the way to the top of the hill. Then Rosie began to bark inside the cabin. The big dog turned and ran back down the path.

“That dumb Rosie!” Peter grumbled. “What good is she?”

When they went inside, they found that their mother was angry with Rosie too. Rosie had pulled a library book off a chair and had chewed the cover.

“If you'd take her outside with you, she wouldn't have so much time to get into trouble,” Mrs. Tracy complained.

The boys looked at each other. They were pretty sure that if Rosie tagged along, the sheepdog would stay out of sight.

Every day after that the boys went down to the orchard. Twice the sheepdog came back, and each time he followed them up the hill before he ran away again.

“What are we going to do if we get him all the way to the house?” Martin wondered one night after the boys had gone to bed. “Mom and Dad will never let us keep him.”

“Yes they will.” Peter sounded sure. “When they see how nice he is, they'll have to.”