"I'll never take another bird into the window," continued Dotty; "it's almost as bad as a ghost."
"You never saw a ghost, Dotty. Nobody ever did."
"Yes, indeed; Angeline has seen 'em as thick as spatter! They come when you're asleep, and there don't anybody know it. I shouldn't dare open my eyes in the night. They're wrapped in a sheet, all white, and their eyes snap like fire. Angeline says they do."
"I don't believe it," said Prudy, stoutly; "my mother told me 'twasn't true."
"P'r'aps mamma doesn't wake up in the night," said Dotty, "and p'r'aps the ghosts never come where she is. Why, Prudy, they're made out o' nothing! If you stick a knife into 'em it goes right through, and don't touch their blood, for they haven't got any blood. They don't care for knives—they're just like bubbles."
"I don't believe it," replied Prudy, again. "I think it's wicked. My mother wouldn't like it if she knew how much you sat in Angeline's lap and talked about ghosts. I don't want to see any or hear any."
"I do, though!" cried Dotty. "I shouldn't be afraid—the leastest speck. I'd go right up to 'em, and, said I, 'How do you do, sir?' And then they would melt like a wink. It blows 'em right out the moment you speak."
"Does it, though?" said Johnny, who had been listening at the door. "You don't say so! Call me when you see your ghostses, and let me talk to 'em too."
"And me! What is um?" said wee Katie, toddling in with her mouth full of candy.
"There, there!" cried Dotty Dimple, "you've been a-listening, Johnny Eastman."