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"Oh thank you, mum, thank you, and it's deeply beholden I am to you and Miss Acton for calling and enquiring after them, not to mention presents which leaves my Sarah most grateful indeed. That there little Tommy of mine grows like a ship you're arisin'. Because I'm his father I'm not goin' to pretend he don't improve every voyage.",

"Well I kept mine by havin' a good pair of legs," groaned Fatty. "I'm not denyin' that. And by gravy, if they had been good enough fer a thousand miles I'd've let 'em go the limit. Scared! Oh yowlin' wildcats! I'll see ghosts an' smell brimstone the rest o' my life.",

Above him bent a face with tender blue eyes and red, half-smiling lips beneath a crowning glory as golden as frost-pinched maple leaf. And she would be at school in the morning! It was while pondering on how he might contrive to wear his Sunday clothes on the morrow that Billy fell asleep to dream that he was old man Scroggie's ghost and that he was sitting in the centre of Lake Erie with the big hardwoods bush on his knees, waiting for her to come that he might present it all to her.,

"She was lying on the mattress I took in."

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His mother gasped. Whatever was coming over the boy, she wondered. Never before had she been able to get a dose of medicine down him without a struggle. There could be only one answer. He was sick—sicker than he let on.,

"No, I ain't got time. I got t' fry some more eggs an' ham. Go 'long in to your breakfast, an' see you keep your mouth shut durin' the meal. An' look here," she admonished, "if I ketch you apullin' the cat's tail durin' after-breakfast prayers I'll wollop you till you can't stand.",

"Yes, papa. When I found myself his prisoner and at his mercy I quickly thought over what I should do to rescue myself. I understood, first of all, that I must disgust him if possible." Captain Acton and Sir William exchanged a look at this stroke of naiveté and lightly smiled. "How was I to disgust him?" continued the beautiful young creature. "I made up my mind to pretend to be mad.",

His arm about the trunk of a tree, he laughed softly, as his eyes, sweeping the checker-board of autumn's glories, rested at last on the grove of coniferous trees. So that was the haunted grove? That dark, silent, spicy bit of isolated loneliness far below was the spot he had so feared! But he feared it no longer. She had cured him of that. She had said that fear of the supernatural was foolish; and of course she was right.