might perhaps go two
or three steps, and then you'd scream out and run away; wouldn't he,
Pennie?"

"Why, you know he _was_ brave about the cow," said Pennie, "braver than
any of us."

"That was different. He's quite as much afraid of the dark as ever. I
call it babyish."

Nancy looked defiantly at her brother, who was getting very red in the
face. She was prepared to have something thrown at her, or at least to
have her hair, which she wore in a plaited pig-tail, violently pulled,
but nothing of the sort happened. Nurse came soon afterwards and bore
away David and Dickie, and as she left the room she remarked that the
wind was moaning "just like a Christian."

It certainly was making a most mournful noise that evening, but not at
all like a Christian, Ambrose thought, as he listened to it--much more
like Pennie's Goblin Lady and her musical performances.

Pennie had finished her stories now, and she and Nancy were deeply
engaged with their dolls in a corner of the room; this being an
amusement in which Ambrose took no interest, he remained seated on the
table occupied with his own reflections after Nurse had left the room
with the two children.

Nancy's taunt about the garret was rankling in his mind, though he had
not resented it openly as was his custom, and it rankled all the more
because he felt that it was true. Yes, it _was_ true. He could not
possibly go into the garret alone in the dark, and yet if he really were
a brave boy he ought to be able to do it. Was he brave, he wondered?
Father had said so, and yet just now he certainly felt something very
like fear at the very thought of the Goblin Lady.

In increasing perplexity he ruffled up his hair until it stood out
wildly in all directions; boom! boom! went the wind, and then there
followed a long wailing sort of sigh which seemed to come floating down
from the very top of the house.

It was quite a relief to hear Nancy's matter-of-fact voice just then, as
she chattered away about her dolls:

"Now, I shall brush Jemima's hair," Ambrose heard her say to Pennie,
"and you can put Lady Jane Grey to bed."

"I ought to be able to go," said Ambrose to himself, "and after all I
don't suppose the Goblin Lady _can_ be worse than Farmer Snow's black
cow."

"But her head's almost off," put in Pennie's voice. "You did it the
last time we executed her."

"If I went," thought Ambrose, continuing his reflections, "they would
never, never be able to cal