"But I'm not afraid," rejoined a bold, clear voice. "I'm never afraid when I'm with you, Philip."
"It's all right," he said presently, as Sally's racing pace slackened and she gradually came back to her bit. "Sally is a coward; she thought she saw a ghost."
"Yes; and it was only an old bullock," scoffed the child. "But, cousin Phil, there are real ghosts, you know."
"Where?"
"Oh," spreading out her hands, "everywhere, all over the world—in the station—yes, and in your bungalow."
"My poor, simple Angel! Who has been cramming you with this rot?"
"The servants," she promptly replied; "and I've heard other people talking. The cook's brother is your bearer, and yet, he would not go into your compound after dark if you gave him one hundred rupees."
"Then he is a foolish man," pronounced Gascoigne; "not that I am likely to offer him his price."
"They say," resumed the child, "where you keep your boxes and polo sticks used to be the dining-room, and that servants in queer old liveries can still be seen there."
"Then I wish to goodness they'd clean up my saddles whilst they wait. And is that all?"