."

"No--never our Holmescroft," said Miss M'Leod. "We'll ask him here on
Tuesday, mamma." They squeezed each other's hands.

"Now tell me," said Mrs. M'Leod--"that tall one, I saw out of the
scullery window--did she tell you she was always here in the spirit? I
hate her. She made all this trouble. It was not her house after she had
sold it. What do you think?"

"I suppose," I answered, "she brooded over what she believed was her
sister's suicide night and day--she confessed she did--and her thoughts
being concentrated on this place, they felt like a--like a burning
glass."

"Burning glass is good," said M'Leod.

"I said it was like a light of blackness turned on us," cried the girl,
twiddling her ring. "That must have been when the tall one thought worst
about her sister and the house."

"Ah, the poor Aggie!" said Mrs. M'Leod. "The poor Aggie, trying to
tell every one it was not so! No wonder we felt Something wished to say
Something. Thea, Max, do you remember that night?"

"We need not remember any more," M'Leod interrupted. "It is not our
trouble. They have told each other now."

"Do you think, then," said Miss M'Leod, "that those two, the living
ones, were actually told something--upstairs--in your in the room?"

"I can't say. At any rate they were made happy, and they ate a big tea
afterwards. As your father says, it is not our trouble any longer--thank
God!"

"Amen!" said M'Leod. "Now, Thea, let us have some music after all these
months. 'With mirth, thou pretty bird,' ain't it? You ought to hear
that."

And in the half-lighted hall, Thea sang an old English song that I had
never heard before.

With mirth, thou pretty bird, rejoice
Thy Maker's praise enhanced;
Lift up thy shrill and pleasant voice,
Thy God is high advanced!
Thy food before He did provide,
And gives it in a fitting side,
Wherewith be thou sufficed!
Why shouldst thou now unpleasant be,
Thy wrath against God venting,
That He a little bird made thee,
Thy silly head tormenting,
Because He made thee not a man?
Oh, Peace! He hath well thought thereon,
Therewith be thou sufficed!

THE RABBI'S SONG

IF THOUGHT can reach to Heaven,
On Heaven let it dwell,
For fear that Thought be given
Like power to reach to Hell.
For fear the desolation
And