“But you thought of it,” Mr. Dwight reminded her, “and you planned where we should get a ghost, and you coached her for the part. I only smuggled out the costume, consisting of a pair of Miss MacNish’s best linen sheets, and introduced Miss Ayres and the ghost down at the farmhouse. Here she is, by the way. Miss MacBrague, come and meet your admiring audience and receive their congratulations. You took everybody in.”
Then there were introductions, explanations, and questions all at once. Madeline had to tell how she had thought of evoking a spectre to complete Babbie’s castle, but knew she should be discovered at once if she or any one else in the picnic-party was missing when the ghost appeared. Mr. Dwight had suggested Miss MacBrague, who lived down the road with her grandparents, and was interested in the old folk-tales of the countryside. Miss MacBrague apologized prettily for her performance.
“I dinna go to the play,” she said. “I havena seen the great actors as ye have. I did only just as Miss Ayres showed me, and the crying is like the crying that the old people do at the graves. I am verra glad if it pleased ye, and I hope ye were na really frighted,” turning to Babe.
“You ought to go on the stage. You’re a perfectly splendid actress,” Babe declared fervently. “But it’s mean of you to oblige me to confess how I ran away from you.”
And then there were more questions and explanations, and the laugh was on Babe.
Between times they had toasted all the marshmallows, though Babbie protested that it was taking a mean advantage of her beacon-holder to turn it to such base uses; and at last Mrs. Hildreth said it was time to start back. They dropped little Miss MacBrague at her home after having received her thanks for “th’ gae good time ye’ve given me,” and made her promise to come and see them in Oban, and drove briskly home, for the sky had clouded over, and the air was full of rain.
“Never mind,” said Babbie jubilantly. “I can feel the curl walking out of my feather, but who cares for a little thing like that? Never as long as I live shall I forget the lovely, thrilly, creepy feeling that came over me when I saw my very own ghost walking out of the beech-wood in the moonlight.”
“I say, that was rather fine, wasn’t it?” said John. “You girls are certainly keeping out of the rut of ordinary European travel.”
“That’s because we have dominant interests,” explained Madeline. “Mine is tea-rooms, Babbie’s is evidently ghosts, and Babe’s is—let me see—chimney-pots.”
“I’m going to change,” Babe protested in the general laugh that followed. “I chose in too much of a hurry. I want an interest that you can follow up. You can’t follow up chimney-pots. They’re all right there on the surface.”