Then, as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she espied Willem.
"Why!" she cackled. "Of all things! You naughty, naughty child! You ought to be in bed and asleep!"
Willem shrank under the rebuke, but a touch of Peter Grimm's hand and a whispered word of encouragement braced him to reply:
"Old Mynheer Grimm's come back."
In the midst of her tirade Mrs. Batholommey stopped, open-mouthed. She stared at the boy in dismay. His face, as well as his voice, was unperturbed. He had stated merely what seemed to him a perfectly natural but very welcome truth. He had supposed she would be pleased, not petrified. He had told her the news in the hope of averting a scolding. But she did not seem to take it in the sense of his simple declaration. So he repeated it.
"Old Mynheer Grimm's come back, Mrs. Batholommey."
She gurgled wordlessly, then sputtered:
"What are you talking about, child? 'Old Mynheer Grimm,' as you call him, is dead. You know that."
"No, he isn't," stoutly contradicted Willem. "He's come back. He's in this room right now. At least," he added as he glanced about and could not feel the Dead Man's presence, "at least he was a minute ago. I know, because I've been talking to him."
"Absurd!"