"I shall tell Miss Clarke; she's in her room writing letters, and she—"
"If you go near her I'll—" George paused irresolutely, and looked at his brother with scornful eyes. The twins were generally together in mischief, but George was usually the leader, being by far the more daring spirit of the two. On this occasion David resisted his brother's will because he knew his father would be angry at a practical joke, and also because he thought it was a shame to frighten Stella, though he did not mind teasing her.
"It's not as though she was like our Dora and Nellie," he remonstrated. "They won't mind a bit, they'll know in a minute it isn't really a ghost, but Stella—"
"Oh, look here, David, if you mean to side against me when I'm only going to have a little joke with the girls, you can stay here by yourself, and not interfere. Only, no sneaking, you know!" and George bounded angrily out of the school-room, slamming the door after him.
David sat down by the fire irresolutely, not knowing what to do. If he told Miss Clarke, and thus prevented George from carrying out his plan, he knew his brother would be revenged on him later on.
It was almost five o'clock, and the dull November day was drawing to a close. David, looking nervously around, saw it was nearly dark. He heard the clear merry voices of the little girls upstairs, and presently a door opened, and he knew they had come out on the landing. There was silence for a moment, then a little scuffling sound, a slight scream, and Nellie's voice exclaimed, "Oh, George, don't!" followed by a loud, hearty laugh of enjoyment from George.
David drew a breath of relief. No harm had come of the practical joke, but even as the thought was crossing his mind the door was thrown hastily open, and Dora rushed in with a countenance expressive of the greatest alarm.
"Oh, David!" she cried, half sobbing, "Stella's dead!"
"Dead!" David echoed, his face turning pale.
"Yes, yes! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"