He stared at it, amazed at the similarity to his own penmanship.
"I'd like to stay, if only to ferret out the mystery of this rascally fake!" he thought "But—oh, hang it! this rascally fake is the very breath of life to Dad and Mother. No, Peter Boots, it can't be done! You're out of it all and out of it all you must stay. Clear out of here now, before you get in any deeper."
He fingered the old tobacco pouch.
"Heavens and earth!" he exclaimed to himself, as a sudden thought struck him. "That's so!"
Again he took up the letter, looking closely at the formation of the words, studying the tenor of the message, and then, with a sigh, laid all back in the drawer and gently closed it.
"That way madness lies," he told himself, and turned to leave the room and the house.
As he reached for the light switch, a small hand laid on his own detained him.
Startled, he looked up and saw a witch-like, eerie face smiling at him.
"Must you go?" whispered a mocking voice, and Peter Boots, for once in his life was absolutely stricken dumb.
Who or what was this sprite, this Brownie? What was she doing in his father's house? Were materialized spirits really inhabiting the place?