working but, instead, he stood leaning on his hoe, saying nothing. But he was there with something to say, that was evident, for presently, having shifted his feet once or twice and cleared his throat, he was able to begin.
"Miss Betsey," he said slowly, "you don't believe in bad spirits, do you, the kind that bring ill luck to people that deserve only the best and fairest fortune on earth?"
She was quite startled that his thoughts and hers should have been following so closely the same channel, but she would not admit the fact.
"No, Michael, I don't," she answered firmly. "Do you?"
"I'm not sure that I don't, nor yet that I do," he replied doubtfully; "sometimes I think I have let my fancies run away with me my whole life through, so now that I am a foolish old man, I cannot believe my own senses. You don't think for instance—" he lowered his voice almost to a whisper and looked at her keenly through the shadows, "you don't think that there is anything queer amiss up yonder at the old house?"
"Michael!" cried Betsy, too much astonished to keep up her pretense of calmness. "Michael, have you noticed it too? What was it you saw?"
"It was not so much what I saw, for my eyes are
