"But there's no reason why it should have been lost," replied Mrs. Ormond. "I can't imagine where it's gone to."
"I say," cried Guy, "perhaps it was the poultry-carver that Elsie's ghost was grinding last night! Ha! ha! That's where it went!"
"I never said it was a ghost, you stupid," answered Elsie, a good bit nettled.
"Well, some one said it was."
"You said so yourself, Guy; and it's not fair to put it off on me."
"You were the person who heard it; and so, if it was a ghost, it was your ghost."
"It isn't my ghost!" cried Elsie, thumping the table, and getting very red. "It isn't a ghost at all, so shut up, Guy."
"How d'you know it wasn't a ghost? If you didn't see what it was, it might as well be a ghost as anything else."
"Come now," interrupted Mrs. Ormond; "I think we discussed this matter quite enough at breakfast, so now you'd better let it rest. Your father thinks that it was nothing but the wind whistling through some crack that Elsie mistook for the noise of the stone."
"But, mother—" began the little girl.