"The one about Peter Pan," said Henrietta.
"No! Tell us a new one about the piruts," cried Wilberforce.
"A ghost story, 'Lissie," chimed in Harold, aged five. "Scare me good
and hard, so's I can sleep with Freddy to-night."
"It's not the right kind of a night for a ghost story," said Melissa,
her eyes going over the group with a strange, sweet compassion in
their depths. "The wind ought to be howling with blood-curdling glee
and the will-o'-the-wisp ought to be a-hoppin' in the swamp. There
ought to be a graveyard close by--and some skeletons standing just
outside the winders, trying to look in upon us through their eyeless
sockets."
"Let's imagine 'em," said Frederick.
"I want to huddle, 'Lissie," lisped Rosemary. "It's fun to huddle."
"You'll be discharged if you fill these kids up with any more of those
yarns of yours," said Stokes, the nurse-maid, languidly looking up
from the book she was reading.
"I guess not," said Melissa, rather grimly. "My job's safe, no matter
what I do or don't do. Go on with your reading, Miss Stokes.
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