o heard it; and so, if it was a ghost, it was
your ghost."

"It _isn't_ my ghost!" cried Elsie, thumping the table, and getting
very red. "It isn't a ghost at all, so shut up, Guy."

"How d'you know it wasn't a ghost? If you didn't see what it was, it
might as well be a ghost as anything else."

"Come now," interrupted Mrs. Ormond; "I think we discussed this matter
quite enough at breakfast, so now you'd better let it rest. Your father
thinks that it was nothing but the wind whistling through some crack
that Elsie mistook for the noise of the stone."

"But, mother--" began the little girl.

"Never mind, Elsie," interrupted Mrs. Ormond; "we won't talk about it
any more just now. There's nothing to be ashamed of in mistaking one
sound for another, especially when you wake up in the middle of the
night, and everything seems strange."

Elsie subsided, but she was far from satisfied, especially as Guy
covertly pulled a face at her across the table. She ate her dinner in
silence, and as soon as the meal was over left the room and went outside
in a pet. As the tool-house had been uppermost in her mind lately, she
naturally found her way there, and sat down on an old hamper to think.
Though sensitive, she was a courageous child, and she did not like
being made fun of, especially when the taunt implied that she had been
frightened at nothing.

There before her stood the grindstone, looking exactly the same as it
had always done. The girl rose, walked over to it, and put her foot on
the treadle.

"Squeak! squeak!" Yes, that was exactly the noise she had heard in the
night, coupled with the grate of the stone against the hard metal. She
felt more than ever sure that she had not been mistaken.

At that moment the door opened, and Brian appeared. In his short blue
knickers, and with the gaily coloured shirt showing beneath his coat, he
looked what he was--a thoroughly manly boy. He and Elsie were always the
best of good comrades, and the latter was always ready to tell Brian her
troubles, feeling sure of a sympathetic hearing.

"Are my football boots out here?" he asked.

"Yes, they're over there. And, I say, Bri, I _did_ hear the grindstone
turning last night, and it's too bad of them to say I didn't."

"Well, if you did, you did," answered Brian consolingly. "There's no
reason to fret yourself about such a trifle."

"But Guy tries to make out I was frightened at nothing, and I wasn't."

"Not you," grunted Brian, d