“I went quietly to bed, and when next morning I coolly rang for water and old Roberts entered, he shook with fear so that he would have fallen had I not supported him.
“‘Is—it—you, Master Hans?’ he quavered, ‘and not a dead—go—go—ghost?’
“‘Is that like the hand of a dead go—go—ghost, Roberts?’ I said, grasping his arm with my forest-hardened fingers.
“‘Oh—no—no,’ he almost shrieked. ‘Lor, sir, how you’ve growed! Your mother and Sissie will be skeered, I guess, when they sees you.’
“‘And they are all well?’
“‘That’s so, Master Hans; and the old man too.’
“‘Well, some hot water, Roberts. I’ll wash and come downstairs to breakfast.’
“I was down before anybody, and sitting quietly in a rocker, smoking one of dad’s best Havanas, when Sissie and mother entered.
“You may judge what followed, boys.”
“But,” pleaded Charlie, “you’re not making the story half long enough.”