Archie pulled a string, and the chain rattled again. “And the candle? That was na canny.”
“A dust of sulphur in the wick, granny.” Big Branson looked ashamed of himself, and old Kate herself began to smile once more.
“But how could ye hae the heart to scare an old wife sae, Master Archie?”
“Oh, granny, we got up the fun just to show you there were no such things as ghosts. Rupert says—and he should know, because he’s always reading—that ghosts are always rats or something.”
“Ye maunna frichten me again, laddie. Will ye promise?”
“Yes, granny, there’s my hand on it. Now sit down and have another cup of tea, and Elsie will play and sing.”
Elsie could sing now, and sweet young voice she had, that seemed to carry you to happier lands. Branson always said it made him feel a boy again, wandering through the woods in summer, or chasing the butterflies over flowery beds.
And so, albeit Archie had carried his practical joke out to his own satisfaction, if not to that of every one else, this evening, like many others that had come before it, and came after it, passed away pleasantly enough.
It was in the spring of the same year, and during the Easter holidays, that a little London boy came down to reside with his aunt, who lived in one of Archie’s father’s cottages.