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“But s’pose you change yer name, Miss Gordon,” whispered Betty slyly. “Then nobody’d know ’twas you.” Dim religious lights from stained glass windows shone through the church and falling on the boy chilled him to the marrow. “Miss Gordon here, made me a harnsome lace yoke fer an underwaist, an’ give it to me fer my birthday,” volunteered Mrs. Wopp..

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“He smiles sich a toothy grin,” commented Moses. The frenzied cries of the child were distinctly audible in the kitchen where sat Mrs. Mifsud and Mrs. Wopp, the latter busily engaged in mending a pile of socks. Both ladies sprang to their feet and hurried through the open door towards the garden, Mrs. Wopp still wearing a half-darned sock on her left hand and scattering others as she ran. They were followed by Betty, who had been filling her watering-can from the rain-barrel and had also heard the cries of the frightened child. Jean, too, crossed the little bridge, climbed the fence, mounted her wheel, and rolled off down the dusty road. Billy hid his wheel in the same tangle of rose vine, now all pink and fragrant with bloom, that had sheltered it that earlier Spring afternoon,—was it years ago? It seemed so. As he crept out of the brush and turned to the steep tangled mountain, he saw the haunted house, with the bare space in front. There were the two brothers fighting fiercely!.