hereby revealing his
hiding-place.

His grown-up sister, Ethel, appeared in the doorway.

"Mother wants you," she announced.

"Well, I can't come. I'm busy," said William, coldly, taking a draught
of lemonade and returning to his book.

"Cousin Mildred's come," continued his sister.

William raised his freckled face from his book.

"Well, I can't help that, can I?" he said, with the air of one arguing
patiently with a lunatic.

Ethel shrugged her shoulders and departed.

"He's reading some old book in the barn," he heard her announce, "and
he says----"

[Illustration: ETHEL APPEARED IN THE DOORWAY. "MOTHER WANTS YOU," SHE
ANNOUNCED.]

Here he foresaw complications and hastily followed her.

"Well, I'm _comin'_, aren't I?" he said, "as fast as I can."

Cousin Mildred was sitting on the lawn. She was elderly and very thin
and very tall, and she wore a curious, long, shapeless garment of
green silk with a golden girdle.

"Dear child!" she murmured, taking the grimy hand that William held
out to her in dignified silence.

He was cheered by the sight of tea and hot cakes.

Cousin Mildred ate little but talked much.

"I'm living in _hopes_ of a psychic revelation, dear," she said to
William's mother. "_In hopes!_ I've heard of wonderful experiences,
but so far none--alas!--have befallen me. Automatic writing I have
tried, but any communication the spirits may have sent me that way
remained illegible--quite illegible."

She sighed.

William eyed her with scorn while he consumed reckless quantities of
hot cakes.

"I would _love_ to have a psychic revelation," she sighed again.

"Yes, dear," murmured Mrs. Brown, mystified. "William, you've had
enough."

"_Enough?_" said William, in surprise. "Why I've only had----" He
decided hastily against exact statistics and in favour of vague
generalities.

"I've only had hardly any," he said, aggrievedly.

"You've had _enough_, anyway," said Mrs. Brown firmly.

The martyr rose, pale but proud.

"Well, can I go then, if I can't have any more tea?"

"There's plenty of bread and butter."

"I don't want bread and butter," he said, scornfully.

"Dear child!" murmured Cousin Mildred, vaguely, as he departed.

He returned to the story and lemonade and apple, and stretched himself
happily at full length in the shady barn.

"But the ghostly visitant seemed to be fading away, and with a soft
sigh was gone. Our hero, with a start of surprise, realised that he