"Get out," said I, "and get the wash-bowl and pitcher, and let's throw it at him kersplash."
"I dassent," said Fel, faintly.
"Nor I dassent neither."
By that time I was out of bed, much more frightened than Fel was, and calling "Cousin Lydia," as loud as I could shout. She came in in great surprise, and it was some time before she could succeed in calming us. I remember how heartily she laughed, and how my teeth chattered. I actually had to be wrapped in a blanket and dosed with ginger tea. I wonder how many times cousin Lydia said,—
"Well, children ARE perfect curiosities."
We could not think of such a thing as spending the night alone after all this, and Samantha was obliged to get into our bed and sleep in the middle. Cousin Lydia said we made too much hard work for the family by telling "scare stories," and we must not do it again while we staid at her house.
"I have just found out, Marjie, why it is that you are afraid to sleep alone," said she; "it is because you allow yourself to think about such frightful things. Is it not so?"
"Yes'm," said I, quivering in the blanket.
"Well, child, you must stop it at once; it is a very foolish habit, and may grow upon you. Never think of dreadful things. Say your little prayer, asking God to take care of you, and then lie down in peace, for he will certainly do it. Ruphelle, are you ever afraid?"