but one. I was so scared I couldn't call anybody."
"I believe you," said Bert. "It's awful, isn't it?"
"This is certainly strange," said Mr. Bobbsey, with a grave look on his face. "What did you do next, Nan."
"You—you won't laugh, papa?"
"No."
"I thought of my umbrella. It was resting against the wall, close to the bed. I turned over and reached for the umbrella, but it slipped down and made a terrible noise as it struck the floor. Then I flung the covers over my head."
"What did you want the umbrella for?" questioned Freddie, in great wonder. "'Twasn't raining."
"I thought I could—could punch the ghost with it," faltered Nan.
At this Bert could hold in no longer, and he set up a shout of laughter, which was instantly repressed by Mr. Bobbsey.
"Oh, Nan, I'm sorry I laughed," said her twin brother, when he could speak. "But the
