"And it can't be later than ten now. Jim Barlow—I've been to bed some night, leaving those hateful garden beds all weedy and neglected: and I've got up in the morning and—found—them—in—perfect—order! What do you think of that?"
"Think? Why, 't likely your pa or ma done 'em for you after you was abed."
"No, sir. I might have thought so, too, only they both denied it; nor can I make them believe I didn't do the work myself. So, after I had explained once or twice how it was and they only laughed, I gave up and held my tongue. Mother Martha says that weeds can't pull themselves nor 'cultivators'—even little ones like mine—run over the beds as something certainly did. However, if they won't listen they needn't. I know it's true, though I dare not tell them I've seen the Ghost; because they are both so discouraged and anxious over this farming business that if they found the place was really haunted they'd leave it. Yet, Jim, we can't leave. We mustn't, no matter what. Father came here to get well—his only chance. We haven't enough money to move back to Baltimore nor to live there afterward. We must stay and live with the Ghost. It is the only way. But—O Jim! I've not only seen what It has done in the garden, I've seen It at work there. Seen It with my own two eyes! Now, do you believe?"
"Shucks! Pshaw! You don't!"
Alas! Honest Jim did not believe but he was profoundly sorry for Dorothy, who he felt sure had suffered from too great and unaccustomed labor: and he could only answer according to his own convictions; as he did with added gentleness:
"I think that that there Babcock girl had ought to had her neck wrung 'fore she stuffed any such nonsense into your head, Dolly girl, an' I wish to goodness, just as you did once, 't I 'could make two of myself.' Then I'd make short work of that mite of gardening what seems such a job to you. I—I don't know but I'd ought to quit Deerhurst an' hire myself out to your folks."
"No, no! Oh! no, indeed! You're in the right place now, just the best place to get on as you couldn't do with us."
This opinion was comforting. Jim was so happy in his new home that he had no real desire to exchange it for Skyrie: where he felt his conscience and "duty" would compel him to work so early and late that there would be no time left for his "study." He changed the subject and inquired:
"If you seen It, what did it look like?"
"It was tall, like a man. It was all in some light-colored clothes and it worked as steadily as if It were a machine. But it made very little noise. It didn't want to be heard, I thought. When It had finished It sort of vanished behind the lilac bushes and I thought I saw It crossing a field toward the south meadow. That's where the old 'gold mine' is, that Alfaretta told of, and where she said It lives part of the time. It used to come into the house itself, into the very room father sleeps in now. So she said."