“I know that,” I waggled. “But just the same, if I were to meet a white thing in a dark cemetery, and it jumped at me, I’d run it an awful foot race.”
“The fear of ghosts, even as no such thing exists, is born in people,” Mother spoke up, finishing one ear and starting in on the other one. “So I can imagine just how Jerry felt.… Quit jerking your head!”
“Mr. Garber has an awfully queer voice,” I [[227]]went on, blinking to keep the soapy wash rag out of my eyes. “He sort of talks out of his shoes. So it isn’t to be wondered at that we mistook him for a whispering ghost. Even when I knew he wasn’t a ghost, I sort of shivered to hear him talk.”
There was a thoughtful look on Dad’s face.
“I’ve often seen your old gentleman rowing up and down the canal. I wondered who he was.”
“He isn’t quite right,” I said, tapping the side of my head.
Mother drew a sharp breath.
“I should think not!” she put in quickly, screwing the wash rag into my ear. “The idea of sending a twelve-year-old girl on an errand such as that! The poor child! The wonder to me is that she wasn’t frightened out of her senses.”
I grinned.
“Mr. Garber wants me to come over and see him when my foot gets well.”