"Don't disturb her. She is most likely asleep."
But Christina was not. Her father found her lying with wet eyelashes and a damp pillow.
Connie was sitting by the fire reading. He dismissed her, then turned to his little daughter.
"Well, Tina," he said cheerfully, "I am afraid that young scamp has given you a big fright. Didn't you know he was dressing up as a ghost? What? You are not crying? Don't be unhappy. It is all over now." He sat down and lifted her out of her bed upon his knee.
Christina buried her face in his shoulder and began to sob.
"I shouldn't cry, my little girl. It is all over now. Don't think about it!"
"But it isn't over," gasped Christina. "It will never be over. It's no good hiding it up. I shall always be afraid, and that's why I'm so—so miserable."
Her father looked puzzled.
"But you know now that it wasn't a real ghost you saw?"
"It wasn't the ghost," sobbed Christina, "it was the being frightened I minded the most. You said I might be the first to disgrace my family and I have!"