meaning, nor of the state of mind in which it had been penned. For
a moment, there was a tense silence, then Mrs. Dodd tittered
hysterically.

"We thought diamonds was goin' to be trumps," she observed, "an' it turned
out to be spades."

Uncle Israel wheezed again and Mrs. Smithers smacked her lips with intense
satisfaction. Mrs. Holmes was pale with anger, and, under cover of the
night, Dick sneaked back to his room, shame-faced, yet happy. Claudius
Tiberius still purred, sticking his claws into the bark with every
evidence of pleasure.

"I do not know," said Mr. Perkins, sadly, running his fingers through his
mane, "whether we are obliged to take as final these vagaries of a dying
man. Dear Uncle Ebeneezer could not have been sane when he penned this
cruel letter. I do not believe it was his desire to have any of us go away
before the usual time." Under cover of these forgiving sentiments, he
pocketed all the money in the box.

"Me neither," said Mrs. Dodd. "Anyhow, I'm goin' to stay. No sheeted
spectre can't scare me away from a place I've always stayed in Summers,
'specially," she added, sarcastically, "when I'm remembered in the will."

Mrs. Smithers clucked disagreeably and went back to the house. Uncle
Israel looked after her with dismay. "Do you suppose," he queried, in
falsetto, "that she'll tell the Carrs?"

"Hush, Israel," replied Mrs. Dodd. "She can't tell them Carrs about our
diggin' all night in the orchard, 'cause she was here herself. They didn't
get no spirit communication an' they won't suspect nothin'. We'll just
stay where we be an' go on 's if nothin' had happened."

Indeed, this seemed the wisest plan, and, shivering with the cold, the
baffled ones filed back to the Jack-o'-Lantern. "How did you get out,
Israel?" whispered Mrs. Dodd, as they approached the house.

The old man snickered. It was the only moment of the evening he had
thoroughly enjoyed. "The same spirit that give me the letter, Belinda," he
returned, pleasantly, "also give me a key. You didn't think I had no
flyin' machine, did you?"

"Humph" grunted Mrs. Dodd. "Spirits don't carry no keys!"

At the threshold they paused, the sensitive poet quite unstrung by the
night's adventure. From the depths of the Jack-o'-Lantern came a shrill,
infantile cry.

"Is that Ebbie," asked Mrs. Dodd, "or Rebbie?"

Mrs. Holmes turned upon her with suppressed fury. "Don't you ever dare to
allude to my children in that manner again," she com