n to the porcupine," ridiculed Jan.

"Even to the porcupine," gravely replied Mr. Bourne. "Jan, I am not
joking. Moreover, I do not consider it a subject for a joke. If any one
is playing the trick, it is an infamous thing, most disrespectful to
your brother and his wife. And if not----"

"If not--what?" asked Jan.

"In truth, I stopped because I can't continue. Frederick Massingbird's
spirit it cannot be--unless all our previous belief in the
non-appearance of spirits is to be upset--and it cannot be Frederick
Massingbird in life. He died in Australia, and was buried there. I am
puzzled, Jan."

Jan was not. Jan only laughed. He believed there must be something in
the moonlight that deceived the people, and that Mr. Bourne had caught
the infection from the rest.

"Should it prove to be a trick that any one is playing," resumed the
clergyman, "I shall----"

"Hollo!" cried Jan. "What's this? Another ghost?"

They had nearly stumbled over something lying on the ground. A woman,
dressed in some light material. Jan stooped.

"It's Alice Hook!" he cried.

The spot was that at which Mr. Bourne had seen her sitting. The empty
bottle for medicine in her hand told him that she had not gone upon her
errand. She was insensible and cold.

"She has fainted," remarked Jan. "Lend a hand, will you, sir?"

Between them they got her on the bench, and the stirring revived her.
She sighed once or twice, and opened her eyes.

"Alice, girl, what is it? How were you taken ill?" asked the vicar.

She looked up at him; she looked at Jan. Then she turned her eyes in an
opposite direction, glanced fearfully round, as if searching for some
sight that she dreaded; shuddered, and relapsed into insensibility.

"We must get her home," observed Jan.

"There are no means of getting her home in her present state, unless she
is carried," said Mr. Bourne.

"That's easy enough," returned Jan. And he caught her up in his long
arms, apparently having to exert little strength in the action. "Put
her petticoats right, will you?" cried he, in his unceremonious fashion.

The clergyman put her things as straight as he could, as they hung over
Jan's arm. "You'll never be able to carry her, Jan," said he.

"Not carry her!" returned Jan. "I could carry you, if put to it."

And away he went, bearing his burden as tenderly and easily as though it
had been a little child. Mr. Bourne could hardly keep pace with him.

"You go on, and have the door o