"Did you cry?"
"I 'spose so; I know I was awful hungry."
"But did you cry because your mother was dead?"
"Partly, I suppose."
"When you went to bed, did you think you saw her face with a cloud all around it, and did you call 'Mother?' and did the eyes look sad at you, but stay still where they were? and when you went up toward the cloud and the face, did it all go away?"
"Lor', no; how you talk," said Timmins, as Rose's face grew still paler. "Don't—you make my flesh creep."
"You wouldn't be afraid of your own dear mamma, would you?" asked Rose.
"Lor', yes, if she came to me that way," answered Timmins. "It isn't natur', child; you saw a—a—," and Timmins hesitated to pronounce the word ghost.
"I know you wouldn't run away from it, if it looked so sweet and loving at you," said Rose; "but why did it not come nearer to me? and why did it all fade away when I put out my arms to clasp it? That made me think it couldn't be my mamma, after all; and yet it was mamma, too, but so pale and sad."
"Wall—I don't know," said the perplexed Timmins; "you are beyend me; I don't know nothing about sperrits, and I don't want to; but come here; you've been asking me all sorts of questions, now I should like to ask you one."