“Where?”
“Willie saw it down by the Fort Beach.”
“To-night?”
“Yes. Just now. So he says, though it’s all rot, of course.”
“Oh,” said Jane, and she became silent.
SHE appeared to be barring our way. It seemed to me, too, that the color had left her face, and I wondered vaguely why she was taking it so seriously. That was not like Jane: she was a level-headed girl, not at all the sort to be frightened by Negroes talking of ghosts.
She turned suddenly on Willie. The colored boy had been employed in the Dorrance household since childhood. Jane herself was only seventeen, and she had known Willie here in this same big white stone house, almost from infancy.
“Willie, what you saw, was it a—a man?”
“Yes,” said the boy eagerly. “A man. A great big man. All white an’ shinin’.”
“A man with a hood? Or a helmet? Something like a queer-looking hat on his head, Willie?”