awake,
and I ate--_oh_, how I ate!"

One by one the up-stairs lights went out, and a deep silence fell on the
old mansion. The ticking of the great clock on the stairs was the only
sound. The serene peace of the starlit night settled over The Locusts
like brooding wings. The clock struck one, then two, and the long hand
was half-way around its face again before any other sound but the
musical chime broke the stillness. Then a succession of strangled moans
began to penetrate the consciousness of even the soundest sleeper.
Whoever it was that was trying to call for help was evidently terrified,
and the terror of the cries sent a cold chill through every one who
heard them.

"It's burglars," shrieked Lloyd, sitting up in bed. "Papa Jack! They're
in Joyce's room! They're trying to strangle her! Papa Jack!"

Lights glimmered in every room, and doors flew open along the hall. A
dishevelled little group in bath-robes and pajamas rushed out, Mr.
Sherman with a revolver, Miles Bradford with a heavy Indian club, and
Phil with his walking-stick with the electric battery in its head. He
flashed it like a search-light up and down the hall.

At the first moan, Joyce had wakened, and realizing that it came from
Mary's corner of the room, began to grope on the table beside her bed
for matches. Her fingers trembled so she could scarcely muster strength
to scratch the match when she found it. Then she glanced across the room
and began to laugh hysterically.

"It's all right!" she called. "Nobody's killed! Mary's just having a
nightmare!"

By this time Mr. Sherman had opened the door, and the blinding glare of
Phil's electric light flashed full in Mary's eyes. At the same instant
Lloyd opened the door on the other side, between the two rooms, and
Betty and Mrs. Sherman followed her in. So when Mary struggled back to
wakefulness far enough to sit up and look around in a dazed way, the
room seemed full of people and lights and voices, and she tried to ask
what had happened. She was still sobbing and trembling.

"What's the matter, Mary?" called Phil from the hall. "Were the Indians
after you again?"

"Oh, it was awfuller than Indians," wailed Mary, in a shrill, excited
voice. "It was the worst nightmare I ever had! I can't shake it off. I'm
scared yet."

"Tell us about it," said Mrs. Sherman, soothingly. "That's the best
remedy, for the terror always evaporates in the telling, and makes one
wonder how anything foolish could hav