“We can carry them over our arms until we get to the graveyard,” she said, “and then wrap ourselves in the white folds. If the ghost appears we’ll show him that others are able to play the same trick.”
“But we might frighten him,” laughed Marion.
“Whoever is playing ghost must be trying to frighten others,” returned Janet; “for, as you say, actual really-truly ghosts do not exist. I think it would be fun to turn the tables on the impostor.”
“Perhaps so. What do you think, Phœbe?”
“It may be a good idea,” she said, rather reluctantly, for somehow she regarded this matter far more seriously than did the others. The ghost was using her grandfather’s tomb for its headquarters, according to Marion’s report, and that gave Phœbe a personal interest in the affair.
At last the clock warned them it was nearly twelve o’clock; so they gathered up the sheets Janet had provided and stole noiselessly from the house. The graveyard was only a short distance away and they reached it about midnight, taking their position in a dark corner near the Eliot mausoleum. They assisted one another to drape the sheets effectually and then sat down upon the ground, huddled close together, to await the advent of the ghost.
“Perhaps it won’t come to-night,” whispered Janet, with a suspicion of hopefulness in her voice.
“True; we must be prepared for that disappointment,” replied Marion, soberly.
“Do you feel at all creepy, girls?” asked Phœbe, who caught herself indulging in nervous shivers at times, despite the fact that the night was warm and sultry.
“For my part,” said Marion, “I have no silly fears when in a graveyard. I find the place serenely restful, and therefore enjoy it.”