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"A cookie, a nice fat cookie, with a raisin in its centre," coaxed the girl. "'No ghost kin harm where lies this charm,'" he recited solemnly. "Now if you fellers feel like beatin' it, why beat it; but so long as I'm grabbin' onto this left hind foot of a graveyard rabbit I don't run away from no ghost—not even old man Scroggie's." "Oh look at the dear little thing," cried the girl. "What do you suppose he's saying?" as the squirrel broke into a shrill chatter. Stanhope, hands clasped together, sat staring into a vista of shadows that were all but dissolved. Above them lifted a face that smiled—and down across sleeping, darkening waters a long ray of light swept to touch his unseeing eyes and whisper her message of hope..