While, peal on peal, sounded the demoniac laughter around us.
Cassy fell on her knees and began praying:
"St. Mary, pray for us! St. Martha pray for us! all ye hooly vargins and widders, pray for us lone women! St. Peter, pray for us! St. Powl pray for us! All hooly 'postles and 'vangellers, pray for us poor sinners!—Saint—Saint—Saint—oh! for de Lor's sake, Miss Ally, honey, tell me de name o' that hooly saint as met a ghose riding on Balaam's ass and knows hows—how it feels!"
"It was Saul or Samuel, or the Witch of Endor, I forget which," said Alice, whose knowledge of the Old Testament, never very precise, was frightened out of her.
"St. Saul, St. Samuel, St. Witchywinder, pray for us, as met a ghost yourself and knows how it feels."
And still, while Cassy prayed her frantic prayers, and poor old Hector told his beads, and Alice trembled and clung to me, the demon laughter resounded around and around us. We were in such total darkness that I had not seen Mrs. Hawkins withdraw herself from the group, nor suspected her absence until we heard her firm, cheery voice outside near the dining-room door, saying:
"What can any one think of this? Come here, Hector! Come here, children!"
We all went—expecting some denouement.
Mrs. Hawkins telegraphed to us to be perfectly silent, and to step lightly. She turned the angle of the house and walked up the blind alley between the back of the house and the back of the kitchen; when she had got about midway of the walk, she stopped, and silently pointed to the rank weeds and bushes that grew closely under the wall of the house.
"There! what do you think of that?" she said, in a low voice.