“Nothing of importance. Keep still, McGuire. Can you get Mr. Embury’s spirit back, sir?”
“No, the communion is too greatly disturbed. Boy, what do you mean by raspberry jam?”
“Oh, nothin’,” and Fibsy wriggled bashfully. “You tell him, Miss Ames.”
It needed little encouragement to launch Aunt Abby on the story of her “vision” and she told it in full detail.
Marigny seemed interested, though a little impatient, and tried to hurry the recital.
“It was, without doubt, Embury’s spirit,” he said, as Aunt Abby finished; “but your imagination has exaggerated and elaborated the facts. For instance, I think the jam and the gasoline are added by your fancy, in order to fill out the full tale of your five senses.”
“That’s what I thought,” and Fibsy nodded his head. “Raspberry jam! Oh, gee!” he exploded in a burst of silly laughter.
Marigny looked at him with a new interest. The amber-colored glasses, turned toward the boy seemed to frighten him, and he began to whimper.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” he said, “but raspberry jam was so funny for a ghost to have on him!”
“It would have been,” assented Marigny, “but that, I feel sure, existed only in Miss Ames’ fancy. Her mind, upset by the vision, had strange hallucinations, and the jam was one—you know we often have grotesque dreams.”