The Ghost of Popcorn Hill Read Online Free PDF Page B

his face.
    â€œIs he—was he—your dog?” Peter asked, forgetting to be scared.
    â€œNope.” Tom Buffle gave the dog another hug. “This here old feller belonged to my best friend, Jim Curly. They lived in the mill on the other side of the orchard. Buster disappeared in a storm one night, and we figured he got swept away in the creek. And then Jim moved down south. Buster must have come back to the mill to look for his pal, and he couldn’t find him.”
    The ghost dog wagged his tail.
    â€œWish I’d gone over to the mill to look around,” Tom said with a groan. “We could have gotten together a long time ago. But there didn’t seem any point to goin’ there. When Jim Curly left, it just stood empty. Funny that I never ran into Buster up here.”
    â€œHe only came here once before,” Martin explained. “I think he’s sort of shy. And I guess he’d rather be at the mill, anyway. He led us over there once.”
    Tom Buffle gave Buster a hug. “Poor old feller. He’s lonesome, same as me—aren’t you, boy?”
    â€œThat’s what we figured,” Martin said eagerly. “We thought you two ought to get together. We didn’t know you were already friends.”
    â€œYou mean you fellers planned this?” the ghost asked. “You wanted to cheer up old Tom Buffle?”

    â€œAnd make you go away,” Peter said honestly. “Because we don’t need to be cheered up. And now that you have Buster, you won’t need us.”
    If Tom Buffle’s feelings were hurt, he didn’t let it show. “That’s ’bout the nicest thing anybody ever did for me,” he said. “And it’s goin’ to make Buster pretty happy too, ain’t it, old boy?”
    Buster glanced over his shoulder and then went back to licking Tom Buffle’s face.
    â€œHe smiled at us,” Peter said. “Did you see, Martin?”
    Martin started to say “Dogs don’t smile,” but changed his mind. Buster had smiled.
    â€œWe’ll be on our way then,” Tom Buffle said. “Maybe we’ll settle in the old mill—if that’s what Buster wants.” The figures grew fainter as he spoke, and soon the corner was as dark as if they had never been there.
    Martin drew a long breath. “It worked!” he exclaimed. “You were real good helping out with the story, Peter. You didn’t even sound scared—much.”
    â€œI was scared though,” Peter admitted. “But I wanted the ghosts to go away more than I wanted to hide.”
    The boys were silent, thinking over what had just happened. Martin got up and put the screen in the window. He was about to climb back into bed when there was a scratching at the door to the kitchen. He opened the door a crack, and Rosie pushed her way in. They watched as she circled the room and stood up on her hind legs to look out the window.
    â€œYou know what’s nice about Rosie?” Peter said. “She’s fun and she’s smart.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Martin said.
    â€œAnd she loves us,” Peter said.
    â€œRight,” Martin agreed.
    â€œAnd you can’t see through her,” Peter said. “She’s solid.”
    Rosie ran over to Martin’s bed and jumped up on his stomach. “She’s solid, all right,” Martin gasped. “She’s a great dog.”

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    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely