see things
differently. In a word, sir, I have a confession to make--if you don't
mind."

And I told him briefly of my accidental meeting with Anita in the
donjon, of the practical joke we planned, of our sudden meeting with the
_real_ ghost on the ramparts. Mr. Hobson listened, his face growing
redder and redder. At the finish of my story he suddenly leaped to his
feet and brought his fist down on the table with a bang.

"Well, you little devils!" he said admiringly, and burst into loud
laughter. "You're a spunky lad, Jeff. And there ain't any doubt that the
de Pierreponts are as good stuff as you can get in the ancestry
business. The Christmas supper is spread in the banquet hall. Come, de
Pierrepont, will you sup with the old Earl?"

* * * * *

The huge oaken banquet hall, lined with rich hangings, shrunk us to
dwarfs by its vastness. Golden goblets were at each place. A butler,
dressed in antique livery, threw a red cloak over Hobson's fat
shoulders. It was a whim of the old man's.

As we took our places, I noticed the table was set for four.

"Whose is the extra place?" I asked.

The old man at first made no reply. At last he turned to me earnestly
and said: "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"No," I replied. "Yet how else can I explain that vision I saw on the
ramparts?"

"Is the fourth place for him?" Anita almost whispered.

The old man nodded mutely and raised a golden goblet.

"To the Transplanted Ghost!" I said. It was an empty goblet that I
touched to my lips.

THE LAST GHOST IN HARMONY

BY NELSON LLOYD

From _Scribner's Magazine_. Copyright, 1907, by Charles Scribner's Sons.
By permission of the publishers and Nelson Lloyd.

The Last Ghost in Harmony

BY NELSON LLOYD

From his perch on the blacksmith's anvil he spoke between the puffs of
his post-prandial pipe. The fire in the forge was out and the day was
going slowly, through the open door of the shop and the narrow windows,
westward to the mountains. In the advancing shadow, on the pile of
broken wheels on the work-bench, on keg and barrel, they sat puffing
their post-prandial pipes and listening.

* * * * *

For a partner in business I want a truthful man, but for a companion
give me one with imagination. To my mind imagination is the spice of
life. There is nothing so uninteresting as a fact, for when you know it
that is the end of it. When life becomes not