oo," he agreed; "but never mind; Auntie Sue will be home in
a day or two, and then everything will be all right again."

But when he had taken his hat and was starting out for the day's work,
Betty Jo asked, "What are you doing to-day?"

"I was going to work on the fence around the clearing," he answered.
"Why?"

"I--I--wish you could find something to do nearer the house," came the
slow answer. "Couldn't you work in the garden, perhaps?"

"I should say I could!" he returned heartily.

All that forenoon, as Betty Jo went about her household duties she felt
the presence of the thing that filled her so with fear and dread. With
vigorous determination she scolded herself for being so foolish, and
argued with herself that it was all a nervous fancy born of her restless
night. But, the next moment, she would start with a sudden fear and turn
quickly as if to face some one whose presence she felt behind her. And
Brian, too, as he worked in the garden, caught himself often in the act
of pausing to look about with nervous apprehension.

During the noonday meal they made a determined effort to laugh at
themselves, and by the time dinner was over had almost succeeded. But
when Brian, as he pushed back his chair, said, jestingly, "Well, am I
to work in the garden again this afternoon?" Betty Jo answered,
emphatically, "Indeed you are! I will not stay another minute in this
house alone. Goodness knows what I will do to-night!"

There was no jest in the man's voice as he answered: "I'll tell you what
you will do to-night,--you will go to bed and you will go to sleep. You
will leave the door to your room wide-open, and I shall lie right there
on that couch, so near that a whisper from you will reach me. We will
have no more of this midnight prowling, I promise you. If any ghost
dares appear, we--"

The reassuring words died on Brian Kent's lips. His eyes, looking over
Betty Jo's shoulders, were fixed and staring, and the look on his face
sent a chill of horror to the girl's heart. She dared not move nor look
around as he sat like a man turned to stone.

A woman's laugh broke the dead silence.

With a scream, Betty Jo sprung to her feet and whirled about.

As one in a trance, Brian Kent arose and stood beside her.

The woman, who stood in the open doorway, laughed again.

Martha Kent's heavy drinking the night before, when her clubhouse
friends in a wild debauch had tried to help her to forget, was the
climax of many mo