“Wise ghost! Not to cavort around bare-headed on a damp September night!” cried Monty, as much to reassure his own shaken nerves as those of the mountain girl.
“Dorothy’s music was so strange—weird you might say—that she’s made us all feel spooky; but we have no apparitions at Deerhurst, let me tell you,” said Herbert, consolingly.
“Huh! You may say what you like, but that one apparited all right. I seen it with my very own eyes and nobody else’s!” retorted Alfaretta, with such decision and twisting of good English that those who heard her laughed loudly.
The laughter effectually banished “spookiness” and as now poor Luna sank down upon the floor in her accustomed drowsiness, her enwrapt mood already forgotten, the Master lifted her in his strong arms and carried her away to Dinah and to bed. But as he went he cast one keen glance toward the windows, where nothing could now be seen—if ever had been—save the dimly outlined trees beyond. Yet even he almost jumped when Jim, having followed him from the room, touched his arm and asked:
“What do you s’pose sent old Oliver Sands to peekin’ in our windows?”
THE GHOST AT THE WINDOW.
Dorothy’s House Party.