"Yes, of course," chirped Carol. "How did
folks find out?'
"Say, be reasonable," begged Nevius. "Spoiling another good story. I
say it is a true tale, and I ought to know. I," he shouted
triumphantly, "I was Lover."
Hooting laughter greeted him.
"But just the same," contended Barrows, "regardless of the feeble
fabrications of senile minds, there are ghosts none the less. The
night before we got word of my father's death, my sister woke up in the
night and saw a white shadow in her window,--and a voice,--father's
voice,--said, 'Stay with me, Flossie; I don't want to be alone.' She
told about it at breakfast, and said it was just five minutes to two
o'clock. And an hour later we got a message that father had died at
two that night, a thousand miles away."
"Honestly?"
"Yes, honestly."
"I knew a woman in Chicago," said Miss Landbury, "and she said the
night before her mother died she lay down on the cot to rest, and a
white shadow came and hovered over the bed, and she saw in it, like a
dream, all the details of her mother's death just as it happened the
very next day. She swore it was true."
"Don't talk any more about white shadows," said Carol. "They make me
nervous."
"Wouldn't it be ghastly to wake up alone in a little wind-blown canvas
tent in the dead of night, and find it shut off from the world by a
white shadow, and hear a low voice whisper, 'Come,' and feel yourself
drawn slowly into the shadow by invisible clammy fingers--"
"Don't," cried Miss Landbury.
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