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"Fer the love av hivin, be sure ye make both inds av the circle jine," he shivered. "Ut's a small crack a ghost kin squeeze through, I'm tellin' ye.",

"Billy Boy," he said, with a smile, "I had to come, at last. Every time you have offered to guide me to this old spot we knew and loved and enjoyed together I have refused because—because I thought I couldn't stand it: because I am unable to see what my heart and senses tell me is here. But tonight I groped my way down, knowing that you would find me and help me home.",

"Well, there's the Proctors, five families of 'em an' every last one of 'em a brother to the other.",

Billy looked his relief. "I don't think I'm quite as bad as I used to be," he said. "Why say, there was a time when you couldn't get me inside that grove. But lately I've been feelin' different about it. I don't s'pose there re'lly is such a thing as a ghost, is there?"

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"Oh gollies!" gasped Anson. "What's he huntin' copperheads fer, Bill?",

Mrs. Wilson was outside, by this time, and tying on her sun-bonnet. Maurice held back. She grasped his arm and hustled him down the walk.,

"Hello, you!" he shouted. "You'll have to back up an' take the run to your left.",

One bright morning in April in that memorable year 1805, Captain Charles Acton, R.N. (retired), stood on his lawn in front of the house watching a gardener who was at work at a flower-bed. He was a slightly-built but tall, very gentleman-like man, one of the last in a crowd to be picked out as a seafarer. He was pale, his nose aquiline, lips thin, and the expression of the mouth firm. He was dressed in a frill shirt, loose cravat of white cambric, red-striped waistcoat, long green coat with a high collar and small cuffs, tight breeches to the ankle buttoned to the middle of the thigh, and top-boots; a rather low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat sat somewhat cocked on his head. His hair was long, without powder, and tied a little way down the back in a sort of tail.