"What's the matter?" he inquired.
"Sir Thomas Browne says rather frightening things sometimes," said Meg, and proceeded to quote.
"But that those phantasms appear often, and do frequent cemeteries, charnel houses, and churches, it is because those are the dormitories, where the devil, like an insolent champion, beholds with pride the spoils and trophies of his victory in Adam."
"Do you think he really does do that, uncle?"
"Eh? Who? Does what?" said Uncle Russelthorpe, taking snuff.
"The—the devil," whispered Meg. "Does he truly walk about the cemeteries like an insolent champion?"
"We all make our own Devil, as we make our own God," said Mr. Russelthorpe. "You and your friend Sir Thomas make a very terrific one, with uncommonly long horns, because you are both cursed with imagination."
"I don't understand," said the child, after puzzling some time over this reply; and perhaps it was as well she didn't.
On the whole, the hours in the library were good for Meg. Mrs. Russelthorpe observed that she was getting less babyish, and put the change down to her own excellent treatment. She would probably have disapproved of the evening "hauntings" had she known of them; but Mr. Russelthorpe held his tongue on the subject, and they continued till Meg's lesson hours were lengthened with her petticoats, and she was well into her "teens". The cleverest of us are allowed less management than we sometimes fancy, wherein Providence shows some mercy.