“What is the use of my staying?” she demanded. “You live in the age of progress. I’m not wanted!”
“But you are wanted!” I declared. “The world wants you! Anyhow, I want you. Come and spend Christmas with me!”
Did ever any Ghost in any legend wear such an enchanting smile as lighted up the dream-face of the Old-Fashioned Girl as she heard this impulsive invitation? Stretching out a little hand as white as milk—and I noticed there was a tiny blue forget-me-not ring on it—she said,—
“Yes, I will spend Christmas with you! If you will fasten a bunch of mistletoe on the door of my dear old Sedan-Chair on Christmas Eve, I will come and bring you a bundle of pleasant thoughts and merry fancies in exchange! And the best advice I can give you is to be ‘Old-Fashioned’—that is, to love home more than ‘gadding,’—peace more than strife,—friendship more than ‘society,’—simplicity more than show,—cheerfulness more than pride,—truth more than distinction,—and God more than all! Good-night, my dear! Good-bye!”
“Wait, wait!” I exclaimed, loth to lose sight of the pretty face, the sweet eyes, the happy smile—“Just one thing I want to ask you—only one thing!”
The Ghost paused, and turned its fair head round in a glamour of soft radiance like melted moonbeams.
“Well, what is it?”
“Just one thing I want, only one thing!—Oh, dear Old-Fashioned Girl, tell me!—when you lived in this world, so changed and so much sadder and colder since your time—who were you?”
The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl laughed musically.
“Why a simple nobody, my dear! Only your great-great-grandmamma!”