“Why, it’s that Irishman,” said Dorothy, as she heard the voice.
“What Irishman?” asked I. “A murdered one?”
“No; he—there—I suspect that he mistook his room and went to bed with poor Jemmy.”
The mystery now became quite clear. Grandfather looked anything but pleased, and declared that he would rather have seen a ghost than to have been so foolishly frightened.
“Is that all?” asked Charlie.
“That is all,” said Grandmother Golden. “Just hear the crickets chirp. Sounds dreadful mournful.”
“I have been twice disappointed,” said Charlie. “Perhaps, Master Lewis, you can tell us a story before we go in. Something fine and historic.”
“In harmony with books you are reading?”
“And the spirit of Nature,” added Charlie.
“How fine that there boy talks,” said Grandmother Golden. “Get to be a minister some day, I reckon.”