for less cause. I was phenomenally healthy, and, as I have said, no
coward. Before the hindmost deserter gained the draw-bars my reason was
on the return path. I had the signal advantage above my comrades of not
believing in ghosts. My father had asserted to me positively, once and
again, that no such things existed, and put himself to much trouble to
explain natural phenomena that are often misinterpreted by the ignorant
and superstitious into supernatural manifestations. His orders were
strict that the servants should never retail ghost stories in our
hearing; and he was obeyed by the elder negroes. Mam' Chloe, whatever
may have been her reserved rights of private judgment, backed him up
dutifully with the epigram:--

"Folks that's gone to the bad place _can't_ get out to come back, an'
them that's in heaven don't _want_ to."

The cry I had heard certainly sounded like the weak wail of Cousin Mary
Bray's skinny little baby, but God and the dear angels would never let
the helpless, tiny mite wander back to earth alone. My mother had said
to me, last night, that it would never cry any more.

"It was in pain all the while it was here," she reminded me. "It never
awoke that it did not begin to cry. Think how sweet it must be for it
not to suffer now. I think that God sent for it to come to heaven
because He was so sorry for it."

Strength flowed into my soul with the recollection. My mother never said
what was not exactly true. Happy, safe, and saving faith of childhood in
a parent's wisdom, a parent's word, a parent's power!

Curious, rather than frightened, I stepped over Musidora's grave, and
hurried around to the locked gate. Two unsodded mounds were near the
entrance. One was long, and one short. Stretched upon this last was
something that moved slightly and cried again, yet more piteously, when
I called to it. The sight sent me flying like a flushed partridge
through the Old Orchard to the garden fence, over it and up the middle
walk of the garden. While yet afar off, I saw my father standing there
talking with the gardener. Evidently the scattered horde had not spread
an alarm. My father turned at my loud panting, and eyed me with
astonishment. Without pausing to consider why he should be amazed, I
caught hold of him and shrieked my news:--

"Father! father! it is Alexander the Great come back to look for Lucy!"

My father seldom scolded. He more rarely punished without inquiry. He
was stern now and spoke s