“You ain’t sure,” said Dick, half-defiantly, “you ain’t sure but ef you opened yer heyes werry wide you mightn’t see mother—just there, acrost our bed and Jenks’—standin’ and a shakin’ her ’ead.”
“Why, ef she were I couldn’t see,” said Flo. “It be as dark as dark,—I couldn’t see nothink ef I was to look ever so.”
“Oh yes, you could,” said Dick, “you could see ghosts, and mother’s a ghost. I seed ghosts at the gaff, and them is hall in wite, with blue lights about ’em. Ef you opened yer heyes werry wide you could see, Flo.”
“Well, I ’as ’em open,” said Flo, “and I tell you there ain’t no ghosts, nor nothink.”
“Are you sure?” asked Dick.
“No doubt on it,” responded Flo encouragingly. “Mother ain’t yere, mother’s in ’er grave, ’avin’ a good time, and restin’ fine.”
“Are you quite sure?” persisted Dick. “Are you quite sartin as she ain’t turnin’ round in ’er corfin, and cryin’?”
“Oh no; she’s restin’ straight and easy,” said Flo in an encouraging tone, though, truth to tell, she had very grave misgivings in her own mind as to whether this was the case.
“Then she don’t know, Flo?”
“It ain’t reached ’er yet, I ’spect,” said Flo. Then hastening to turn the conversation—