ul.

It proved to be Roy in his white fustian jacket. Roy had never had the
privilege of hearing a dozen women shriek in concert before; at least,
like this. His loud derisive laugh was excessively aggravating. What
with that, what with the fright his appearance had really put them in,
they all tore off, leaving some hard words for him; and never stopped to
take breath until they burst into the shop of Mrs. Duff.

It was rather an ignominious way of returning, and Mrs. Duff did not
spare her comments. If she had went out to meet the ghost, sh'd ha'
stopped till the ghost came, _she_ would! Mrs. Jones rejoined that them
watched-for ghosts, as she had heered, never did come--which she had
said so afore she went out!

Master Dan, considerably recovered, was downstairs then. Rather pale and
shaky, and accommodated with a chair and pillow, in front of the kitchen
fire. The expedition pressed into the kitchen, and five hundred
questions were lavished upon the boy.

"What was it dressed in, Dan? Did you get a good sight of her face, Dan?
Did it look just as Rachel used to look? Speak up, Dan."

"It warn't Rachel at all," replied Dan.

This unexpected assertion brought a pause of discomfiture. "He's head
ain't right yet," observed Mrs. Duff apologetically; "and that's why
I've not asked him nothing."

"Yes, it is right, mother," said Dan. "I never see Rachel last night. I
never said as I did."

Another pause--spent in contemplating Dan. "I knowed a case like this,
once afore," observed old Miss Till, who carried round the milk to
Deerham. "A boy got a fright, and they couldn't bring him to at all.
Epsum salts did it at last. Three pints of 'em they give, I think it
was, and that brought his mind round."

"It's a good remedy," acquiesced Mrs. Jones. "There's nothing like
plenty of Epsum salts for boys. I'd try 'em on him, Mother Duff."

"Dan, dear," said Susan Peckaby insinuatingly--for she had come in along
with the rest, ignoring for the moment what might be waiting at her
door--"was it in the pound as you saw Rachel's ghost?"

"'Twarn't Rachel's ghost as I did see," persisted Dan.

"Tell us who it was, then?" asked she, humouring him.

The boy answered. But he answered below his breath; as if he scarcely
dared to speak the name aloud. His mother partially caught it.

"Whose?" she exclaimed, in a sharp voice, her tone changing. And Dan
spoke a little louder.

"It was Mr. Frederick Massingbird's!"

CHA