'I hate the name of Anthony. Go on; I want to hear more.'
I gave a description of Jane Painter, at which Jessie laughed heartily, and clapped her hands.
'I shall come into your bedroom one night with a sheet over me, and frighten you.'
'I shouldn't be frightened of you, Jessie; besides, I'm not a boy now, and I'm not afraid of anything. Then your voice----'
'Well!'
'Your voice is musical. How could you frighten anybody with it?'
Jessie edged a little closer to me.
'Go on, Chris. Anything more about Jane Painter? What a wretch she must have been!' Then came an account of my grandmother's death, and the legend of the long stocking, in which Jessie was immensely interested.
'And you never found any money after all, Chris?'
'No; and I'm sure we searched for it everywhere. We looked up the chimney, and ripped the bed open, and pulled the armchair all to pieces.'