behind him for his one poor scout possession, the handbook. Then he
reached for the lamp, but the night wind blew it out just as the tall
thing came again, and stayed for several seconds.

Peter groped for the little box of safety matches which always lay near
the lamp. These were the chief ornaments of his little room, the lamp
and the safety matches. He held a match close over page two hundred and
eighty-four while he divided his gaze between this and the next
lingering visitation of that strange, long, shadowy thing over the
graveyard. He struck match after match, as each blew out. Yes, that was
what three short flashes meant--S. And one long flash meant T.

Suppose--_suppose_ there should be three _long_ appearances now? That
would be O. Were these signs, expressed in ghostly strangeness, just the
figments of Peter's excited imagination? Just the Morse Code haunting
him and coloring his fancy? He put his finger on the black symbol on the
page and waited.

--Two--three--then a pause.

S--T--O

His finger held upon the page trembled as he lighted another match and
still another and moved his finger to another printed symbol on the
page. And the long, dusty column over beyond the graveyard, came and
went, now for a second, now for several, now for several again, then for
one short second.

"STOP!" said Peter, his voice shaking as if indeed some ghostly spectre
were upon him. Somebody, somebody was talking to him! Some scout, in
real khaki attire, out in the great world?

Peter did not know where to place his waiting finger next. A mighty hand
had been raised in the black, solemn night, and had said _Stop_. Had
sprawled it across the open page of the heaven. Peter waited, as one
waits for a spirit to give some sign. He kept his eyes riveted upon the
general service code, lighting match after match and throwing them on
the floor as the fickle things went out. Some day, _some day, maybe_,
Peter would have a _real_ flashlight with a switch button, a flashlight
of shiny nickel that he could polish, such a flashlight as he had seen a
picture of in _Boy's Life_. A flashlight that would not blow out.
Sometime he would--maybe....

CHAPTER XXI

SEEIN' THINGS

Stop-blue-car-five-o-seven-nine-two-eagle-on-front.

Out of the solemn darkness, someone, somewhere, had called to Peter
Piper of Piper's Crossroads; had stolen like a silent ghost to his
little window and bidden him watch.

Far away that arresting