“Do you b’lieve in spirits?” repeated Kyan.  “I’ve heard yarns about folks bein’ spirited away, but I never took much stock in ’em.  And,” he added with conviction, “’twould take a pretty husky spirit to handle Laviny if she had her mad up.  She—­Hush! hear that!”

The sound of wheels was heard in the lane by the front gate.  A vehicle stopped.  Then some one called a hurried good night.  Mr. Pepper’s fear returned.

“It’s her!” he cried.  “She’s been ahuntin’ for me.  Now I’ll get it!  You stand by me, Mr. Ellery.  You got to.  You said you would.  But how on earth did she get—­”

The minister motioned him to silence.

“I’ll stand by you,” he whispered.  “Don’t speak.  Leave it to me.”

A step sounded on the back step.  The dining-room door was hurriedly thrown open.

“’Bishy,” called Miss Pepper eagerly. “’Bish, where are you?”

“Here—­here I be, Laviny,” faltered Kyan.

His sister appeared on the threshold.  She was dressed in her Sunday best, flowered poke bonnet, mitts, imitation India shawl, rustling black bombazine gown.  She looked at Mr. Pepper then at the minister.

“O Mr. Ellery!” she exclaimed, “be you here?”

The Reverend John admitted his presence.  Miss Pepper’s demeanor surprised him.  She did not seem angry; indeed, she acted embarrassed and confused, as if she, and not her brother, were the guilty party.

“I’m afraid I’m awful late, ’Bishy,” she said.  “Have you had your supper?”

Kyan was too perturbed to venture a reply.  The sword above his head was quivering on its single hair and he was preparing to dodge the fall.  But it did not fall.

“You haven’t had any supper, have you?” purred Miss Pepper pityingly.  “It’s too bad.  You poor thing! you must be awful hungry.”

She moved across the room and kissed him.  Abishai, who had prepared himself for a different sort of greeting, clutched his chair with both hands.  He looked as if he might faint.  The minister gazed open-mouthed.

“I’m awful sorry, Mr. Ellery,” gushed Lavinia, removing the bonnet.  “You see, I was invited out to ride this afternoon and—­and—­I went.”

She glanced at her brother, reddened—­yes, almost blushed—­and continued.

“You know, ‘Bishy,” she said “Thankful Payne’s cousin’s home avisitin’ her.  He come about that cousin’s will—­the other cousin that’s just died.  He’s a reel nice man—­her live cousin is—­keeps a shoe store up to Sandwich, and I used to know him years ago.  When I was over to Thankful’s t’other day, him and me had quite a talk.  We got speakin’ of what nice drives there was around Trumet and—­and—­er—­well, he asked me if I wouldn’t like to go to ride next Sunday afternoon—­that’s to-day.  And a ride bein’ a good deal of a treat to me, I said I would.  Thankful was goin’, too, but—­er—­er—­she couldn’t very well.  So Caleb—­that’s his name, you remember, ’Bishy—­he come round with his horse and team about ha’f past three and we started.  But I’d no idee ’twas so late.  I—­I—­meant to tell you I was goin’, ’Bish, but I forgot.”