The branch was cast over the edge, and fell at the back of the house. I left the leads, descended, and going out picked up the cedar branch, brought it into the hall, summoned the servants, and said derisively: "Here is an illustration of the way in which weak-minded women get scared. Now we will burn the burglar or ghost that we saw. It turns out to be nothing but this branch, blown up and down the leads by the wind."
"But, Edward," said my wife, "there was not a breath stirring."
"There must have been. Only where we were we were sheltered and did not observe it. Aloft, it blew across the roofs, and formed an eddy that caught the broken bough, lifted it, carried it first one way, then spun it round and carried it the reverse way. In fact, the wind between the two roofs assumed a spiral movement. I hope now you are all satisfied. I am."
So the bough was burned, and our fears—I mean those of the females—were allayed.
In the evening, after dinner, as I sat with my wife, she said to me: "Half a bottle would have been enough, Edward. Indeed, I think half a bottle would be too much; you should not give the girls a liking for sherry, it may lead to bad results. If it had been elderberry wine, that would have been different."
"But there is no elderberry wine in the house," I objected.
"Well, I hope no harm will come of it, but I greatly mistrust——"
"Please, sir, it is there again."
The parlourmaid, with a blanched face, was at the door.
"Nonsense," said I, "we burnt it."