art to his
companions, Scraggy, footsore and weary, entered Sleepy Hollow Cemetery
and seated herself on the damp earth to gather strength. By begging and
stealing she had managed to reach her destination; but now for the first
time on this journey the bats were in her head, sounding the walls of
her poor brain with the ceaseless clatter of their wings. Still the
mother heart called for its own, through the madness--called for one
sight of Lem's child and hers. At length after a long rest she turned
into a broad path which she knew well, and did not halt until she was
staring eager-eyed into the window of Harold Brimbecomb's house which
stood close to the cemetery.

[Illustration: FOR MIDGE'S SAKE.]

To the left of the Brimbecomb's was the mansion, belonging to the
orphans of Horace Shellington. The young Horace and his sister Ann were
the favorite companions of Everett Brimbecomb, now six years old. He was
a strong, proud, handsome lad. Many conjectures had been made concerning
him by the Tarrytown people, because one day five years before the
delicate, light-haired wife of Mr. Brimbecomb had appeared with a
dark-haired baby boy, announcing that from that day on he would take the
place of her own child who had died a few months before. No person had
told Everett that the millionaire was not his father, nor was he made to
understand that the mother and the home were not his by right of birth.
His bright mind and handsome appearance were the pride of his adopted
mother's life, and his rich father smiled only the more leniently when
the lad showed a rebellious spirit. In the child's dark, limpid eyes
slumbered primeval passions, needing but the dawn of manhood to break
forth, perhaps to destroy the soul beneath their reckless domination.

Everett was entertaining Ann and Horace Shellington at dinner, and after
the repast the youngsters betook themselves to the large square room
given to the young host's own use. Here were multitudinous playthings
and mechanical toys of all descriptions. For many minutes the children
had been too interested to note that the shadows were grown long and
that a somber gloom had settled down over the cemetery that lay just
beyond the windows.

Ann Shellington, a delicate little creature of eight, looked up
nervously. "Everett, draw down the curtain," she said. "It looks so
ghostly out there!"

Ann made a motion toward the window; but the boy did not obey her.

"Isn't that just like a gi