time."

A letter had come the day before from Peggy Montfort, telling of all her
delightful doings on the farm, and begging that her darling Margaret
would come out and spend the rest of the summer with her. "Darling
Margaret, do, do, _do_ come! Nobody can possibly want you as much as I
do; nobody can begin to think of wanting you one hundredth part as much
as your own Peggy."

Margaret had laughed over the letter, and kissed it, and perhaps there
was a tear in her eye when she put it away to answer. It was good, good
to be loved. And Peggy did love her, and so she hoped--she knew--did
Uncle John; and now the children were hers, two of them, at least; hers
to have and to hold, so far as love went. Go away and leave them now,
when they needed her every hour? "No, Peggy dear, not even to see your
sweet, round, honest face again."

Coming back to the house she found Gerald Merryweather on the verandah.
He was in his working clothes again, but they were fresh and spotless,
and he was a pleasant object to look upon. He explained that he had
called to inquire for the ladies' health, and to express his hope that
they had suffered no further annoyance the night before. He was on his
way to the bog, and just thought he would ask if there was anything he
could do.

"Thank you!" said Margaret, gratefully. "You are very good, Mr.
Merryweather. No; nothing more happened; and my poor cousin got some
sleep after awhile. But I still cannot imagine what the noise was, can
you?"

"So many noises at night, don't you know?" said Gerald. "Especially
round an old house like this. You were not personally alarmed, were you,
Miss Montfort? I think you may be pretty sure that there was nothing
supernatural about it. Oh, I don't mean anything in particular, of
course; but--well, I never saw a ghost; and I don't believe in 'em. Do
you?"

"Certainly not. I didn't suppose any one believed in them nowadays.
But,--do you know, I really am almost afraid my Cousin Sophronia does.
She will not listen to any explanation I can suggest. I really--oh, here
she is, Mr. Merryweather!"

Miss Sophronia greeted Gerald with effusion. "I heard your voice, my
dear young man," she said, "and I came down to beg that you would take
tea with us this evening--with my niece--she is quite the same as my own
niece; I make no difference, dearest Margaret, I assure you,--with my
niece and me. If--if there should be any more unpleasant occurrences, it
would be a com