of my breath, the effort ended in a curious mixture of howl and bray.
A most effective sound nevertheless; for the rascal dropped as if shot, and, with one upward glance at the white figure dimly seen in the star light, fled as if a legion of goblins were at his heels.
"What next?" thought I, wondering whether tragedy or comedy would close this eventful night.
I sat and waited, chilly, but valiant, while the weird sounds went on within, and silence reigned without, till the cheerful crow of the punctual "cockadoo," as Margie called him, announced the dawn and laid the ghosts. A red glow in the east banished my last fear, and, wrapping the drapery of my couch about me, I soon lay down to quiet slumber, quite worn out.
The sun shining in my face waked me; a bell ringing spasmodically warned me to hurry, and a childish voice calling out, "Bet-fast is most weady, Miss Wee," assured me that sweet little spirits haunted the cottage as well as ghostly ones.
As I left my room to join Margie, who was waiting in the porch, and looking like a rosy morning