“Your grandmother, ma’am?” The boy’s attitude was eagerly attentive and his freckled little face was drawn in a desperate interest.
“No!” Aunt Abby drew closer and just breathed the words, “Mr. Embury!”
“Oh!” Fibsy was really startled, and his eyes opened wide, as he urged, “Go on, ma’am!”
“Yes. Well, it was just at the moment that Mr. Embury was—that he died—you know.”
“Yes’m, they always comes then, ma’am!”
“I know it, and oh, child, this is a true story!”
“Oh, yes, ma’am—I know it is!”
Indeed one could scarcely doubt it, for Aunt Abby, having found an interested listener at last, poured forth her account of her strange experience, not caring for comment or explanation, since she had found some one who believed!
“Yes, it was just at that time—I know, because it was almost daylight—just before dawn—and I was asleep, but not entirely asleep—”
“Sort’a half dozing—”