o make him give
some expression of feeling. But at all events, he did not struggle
against his captivity, and Hinpoha reflected judicially that after all
it was a good thing that he had such a stolid personality, for a calm
frame of mind aids the recovery of the patient and he would not be
likely to keep his wing from healing by dashing it against the side of
the cage. It seemed almost as though he knew his presence in the house
was a secret, and was in league with Hinpoha not to betray himself. So
Aunt Phoebe lived downstairs in blissful ignorance of the feathered
boarder in the attic.

She was suffering from a cold that week and was more than usually
exacting. She finally took to her bed in an air-tight room with a
mustard plaster and an electric heating pad, expressing her intention of
staying there until her cold was cured. "But you ought to have some
fresh air," protested Hinpoha, "you'll smother in there with all that
heat."

"You leave that window shut," said Aunt Phoebe crossly. "All this
foolishness about open windows makes me tired. It's a pity if a young
girl has to tell her elders what's best for them. Now bring the History
of the Presbyterian Church, and read that seventh chapter over again; my
mind was preoccupied last night and I did not hear it distinctly." This
was Aunt Phoebe's excuse for having fallen asleep during the reading. So
poor Hinpoha had to sit in that stifling room and read until she thought
she would faint. Aunt Phoebe fell asleep presently, however, to her
great relief, and she stole out softly, leaving the door open behind her
so that some air could get in from the hall.

Aunt Phoebe woke up in the middle of the night feeling decidedly
uncomfortable. She was nearly baked with the heat that was being applied
on all sides. She turned off the heating pad and threw back one of the
covers, and as she grew more comfortable sleep began to hover near. She
was just sinking off into a doze when she suddenly started up in terror.
There was a presence in the room--something white was moving silently
toward the bed. Aunt Phoebe was terribly superstitious and believed in
ghosts as firmly as she believed in the gospel. She always expected to
see a sheeted figure standing in the hall some night, its hand
outstretched in solemn warning. But this ghost was more terrifying than
any she had ever imagined. It was not in the form of a being at
all--just a formless Thing that moved with strange jerks and st