Emily, do you feel like goin' to bed?"

"To BED! After THAT? Auntie, how can you!"

"All right, then we'll set up till mornin'. Turn that lamp as high as you can and we'll set by it and wait for daylight. By that time we may have some of our sense back again and not behave like two feeble-minded fools. Turn that wick up--WAY up, Emily Howes! And talk--talk just as hard as you can--about somethin' or somebody that's ALIVE."

CHAPTER XVI

Emily obeyed orders as far as turning up the wick was concerned, and she did her best to talk. It was hard work; both she and her cousin found themselves breaking off a sentence in the middle to listen and draw closer together as the wild gusts whistled about the windows and the water poured from the sashes and gurgled upon the sills. Occasionally Thankful went to the door to look down the dark hall in the direction of Mr. Cobb's room, or to unlock Georgie's door and peer in to make sure that the boy was safe and sleeping.

From the third of these excursions Mrs. Barnes returned with a bit of rea.s.suring news.

"I went almost there this time," she whispered. "My conscience has been tormenting me to think of--of Solomon's bein' alone in there with--with THAT, and I almost made up my mind to sing out and ask if he was all right. But I didn't have to, thank goodness. His light's still lit and I heard him movin' around, so he ain't been scared clean to death, at any rate. For the rest of it I don't care so much; a good hard scarin' may do him good. He needs one. If ever a stingy old reprobate needed to have a warnin' from the hereafter that man does."

"Did you hear anything--anything else?" whispered Emily, fearfully.

"No, I didn't, and I didn't wait for fear I MIGHT hear it. Did I lock the door when I came in? Emily, I guess you think I'm the silliest old coward that ever was. I am--and I know it. Tomorrow we'll both be brave enough, and we'll both KNOW there ain't any spirits here, or anywhere else this side of the grave; but tonight--well, tonight's different.

. . . Ouch! what was that? There, there! don't mind my jumpin'. I feel as if I'd been stuffed with springs, like a sofa. Did you ever know a night as long as this? Won't mornin' EVER come?"

At five o'clock, while it was still pitch dark, Thankful announced her intention of going downstairs. "Might as well be in the kitchen as up here," she said, "and I can keep busy till Imogene comes down. And, besides, we'd better be puttin' Georgie's stockin' and his presents in the livin'-room. The poor little shaver's got to have his Christmas, even though his Santa Claus did turn out to be a walkin' rag-bag."

Emily started. "Why, it is Christmas, isn't it!" she exclaimed.

"Between returned brothers and," with a little shiver, "ghosts, I forgot entirely."

She kissed her cousin's cheek.

"A merry Christmas, Aunt Thankful," she said.

Thankful returned the kiss. "Same to you, dearie, and many of 'em," she replied. "Well, here's another Christmas day come to me. A year ago I didn't think I'd be here. I wonder where I'll be next Christmas. Will I have a home of my own or will what I've thought was my home belong to Sol Cobb or Holliday Kendrick?"

"Hush, Auntie, hush! Your home won't be taken from you. It would be too mean, too dreadful! G.o.d won't permit such a thing."

"I sartin' hope he won't, but it seems sometimes as if he permitted some mighty mean things, 'cordin' to our way of lookin' at 'em. That light's still burnin'," she added, peering out into the hall. "Well, I suppose I ought to pity Solomon, but I don't when I think how he's treated me.

If the ghost--or whatever 'tis in there--weeded out the rest of his whiskers for him I don't know's I'd care. 'Twould serve him right, I guess."

They rehung Georgie's stocking--bulging and k.n.o.bby it was now--and arranged his more bulky presents beneath it on the floor. Then Thankful went into the kitchen and Emily accompanied her. The morning broke, pale and gray. The wind had subsided and it no longer rained. With the returning daylight Emily's courage began to revive.

"I can't understand," she said, "how you and I could have been so childish last night. We should have insisted on calling to Mr. Cobb and then we should have found out what it was that frightened him and us. I mean to go over every inch of those two rooms before dinner time."

Thankful nodded. "I'll do it with you," she said. "But I've been over 'em so many times that I'm pretty skeptical. The time to go over 'em is in the night when that--that snorin' is goin' on. A ghost that snores ought, by rights, to be one that's asleep, and a sound-asleep ghost ought to be easy to locate. Oh, yes! I can make fun NOW. I told you I was as brave as a lion--in the daytime."

It was easy to talk now, and they drifted into a discussion of many things. Thankful retold the story of her struggle to keep the High Cliff House afloat, told it all, her hopes, her fears and her discouragements.

They spoke of Captain Bangs, of his advice and help and friendship.

Emily brought the captain into the conversation and kept him there.

Thankful said little concerning him, and of the one surprising, intimate interview between Captain Obed and herself she said not a word. She it was who first mentioned John Kendrick's name. Emily was at first disinclined to speak of the young lawyer, but, little by little, as her cousin hinted and questioned, she said more and more. Thankful learned what she wished to learn, and it was what she had suspected. She learned something else, too, something which concerned another citizen of East Wellmouth.

"I knew it!" she cried. "I didn't believe 'twas so, and I as much as told Cap'n Obed 'twasn't this very day--no, yesterday, I mean. When a body don't go to bed at all the days kind of run into one another."

"What did you know?" asked Emily. "What were you and Captain Obed talking of that concerned me?"

"Nothin', nothin', dear. It didn't concern you one bit, and 'twasn't important. . . . Hi hum!" rising and looking out of the window.

"It's gettin' brighter fast now. Looks as if we might have a pleasant Christmas, after all. Wonder how poor Jedediah'll feel when he wakes up.

I hope he slept warm anyhow. I piled on comforters and quilts enough to smother him."

Her attempt at changing the subject was successful. Emily's next question concerned Jedediah.

"What are you goin' to do with him, Auntie?" she asked. "He must stay here, mustn't he?"

"Course he must. I'll never trust him out of my sight again. He ain't competent to take care of himself and so I'll have to take care of him.

Well," with a sigh, "it'll only be natural, that's all. I've been used to takin' care of somebody all my days. I wonder how 'twould seem to have somebody take care of me for a change? Not that there's liable to be anybody doin' it," she added hastily.

"Jedediah might be useful to work about the place here," said Emily.

"You will always need a hired man, you know."

"Yes, but I don't need two, and I couldn't discharge Kenelm on Imogene's account. What that girl ever got engaged to that old image for is more'n I can make out or ever shall."

Emily smiled. "I shouldn't worry about Imogene," she said. "I think she knows perfectly well what she is about."

"Maybe so, but if she does, then her kind of knowledge is different from mine. If I was goin' to marry anybody in that family 'twould be Hannah; she's the most man of the two."

Imogene herself came down a few minutes later. She was much surprised to find her mistress and Miss Howes dressed and in the kitchen. Also she was very curious.

"Who's that man," she asked; "the one in the next room to mine, up attic? Is he a new boarder? He must have come awful late. I heard you and him talkin' in the middle of the night. Who is he?"

When told the story of Jedediah's return she was greatly excited.

"Why, it's just like somethin' in a story!" she cried. "Long-lost folks are always comin' back in stories. And comin' Christmas Eve makes it all the better. Lordy--There, I ain't said that for weeks and weeks! Excuse me, Mrs. Thankful. I WON'T say it again. But--but what are we goin' to do with him? Is he goin' to stay here for good?"

Thankful answered that she supposed he was, he had no other place to stay.

"Is he rich? He ought to be. Folks in stories always come home rich after they've run off."

"Well, this one didn't. He missed connections, somehow. Rich! No,"

drily, "he ain't rich."

"Well, what will he do? Will we have to take care of him--free, I mean?

Excuse me for b.u.t.tin' in, ma'am, but it does seem as if we had enough on our hands without takin' another free boarder."

Thankful went into the dining-room. Emily, when the question was repeated to her, suggested that, possibly, Jedediah might work about the place, take care of the live-stock and of the garden, when there was one.

Imogene reflected. "Hum!" she mused. "We don't need two hired hands, that's a sure thing. You mean he'll take Kenelm's job?"

"That isn't settled, so you mustn't speak of it. I know my cousin will be very sorry to let Kenelm go, largely on your account, Imogene."

"On my account?"