not behave like two feeble-minded
fools. Turn that wick up--WAY up, Emily Howes! And talk--talk just as
hard as you can--about somethin' or somebody that's ALIVE."

CHAPTER XVI

Emily obeyed orders as far as turning up the wick was concerned, and she
did her best to talk. It was hard work; both she and her cousin found
themselves breaking off a sentence in the middle to listen and draw
closer together as the wild gusts whistled about the windows and the
water poured from the sashes and gurgled upon the sills. Occasionally
Thankful went to the door to look down the dark hall in the direction
of Mr. Cobb's room, or to unlock Georgie's door and peer in to make sure
that the boy was safe and sleeping.

From the third of these excursions Mrs. Barnes returned with a bit of
reassuring news.

"I went almost there this time," she whispered. "My conscience has been
tormenting me to think of--of Solomon's bein' alone in there with--with
THAT, and I almost made up my mind to sing out and ask if he was all
right. But I didn't have to, thank goodness. His light's still lit and I
heard him movin' around, so he ain't been scared clean to death, at any
rate. For the rest of it I don't care so much; a good hard scarin' may
do him good. He needs one. If ever a stingy old reprobate needed to have
a warnin' from the hereafter that man does."

"Did you hear anything--anything else?" whispered Emily, fearfully.

"No, I didn't, and I didn't wait for fear I MIGHT hear it. Did I lock
the door when I came in? Emily, I guess you think I'm the silliest old
coward that ever was. I am--and I know it. Tomorrow we'll both be brave
enough, and we'll both KNOW there ain't any spirits here, or anywhere
else this side of the grave; but tonight--well, tonight's different.
. . . Ouch! what was that? There, there! don't mind my jumpin'. I feel
as if I'd been stuffed with springs, like a sofa. Did you ever know a
night as long as this? Won't mornin' EVER come?"

At five o'clock, while it was still pitch dark, Thankful announced her
intention of going downstairs. "Might as well be in the kitchen as up
here," she said, "and I can keep busy till Imogene comes down. And,
besides, we'd better be puttin' Georgie's stockin' and his presents in
the livin'-room. The poor little shaver's got to have his Christmas,
even though his Santa Claus did turn out to be a walkin' rag-bag."

Emily started. "Why, it is Christmas, isn't it!" she exclaimed.
"Between