CHAPTER XVI

Emily obeyed orders as far as turning up the wick was concerned, and she did her best to talk.  It was hard work; both she and her cousin found themselves breaking off a sentence in the middle to listen and draw closer together as the wild gusts whistled about the windows and the water poured from the sashes and gurgled upon the sills.  Occasionally Thankful went to the door to look down the dark hall in the direction of Mr. Cobb’s room, or to unlock Georgie’s door and peer in to make sure that the boy was safe and sleeping.

From the third of these excursions Mrs. Barnes returned with a bit of reassuring news.

“I went almost there this time,” she whispered.  “My conscience has been tormenting me to think of—­of Solomon’s bein’ alone in there with—­with that, and I almost made up my mind to sing out and ask if he was all right.  But I didn’t have to, thank goodness.  His light’s still lit and I heard him movin’ around, so he ain’t been scared clean to death, at any rate.  For the rest of it I don’t care so much; a good hard scarin’ may do him good.  He needs one.  If ever a stingy old reprobate needed to have a warnin’ from the hereafter that man does.”

“Did you hear anything—­anything else?” whispered Emily, fearfully.

“No, I didn’t, and I didn’t wait for fear I might hear it.  Did I lock the door when I came in?  Emily, I guess you think I’m the silliest old coward that ever was.  I am—­and I know it.  Tomorrow we’ll both be brave enough, and we’ll both know there ain’t any spirits here, or anywhere else this side of the grave; but tonight—­well, tonight’s different. . . .  Ouch! what was that?  There, there! don’t mind my jumpin’.  I feel as if I’d been stuffed with springs, like a sofa.  Did you ever know a night as long as this?  Won’t mornin’ ever come?”

At five o’clock, while it was still pitch dark, Thankful announced her intention of going downstairs.  “Might as well be in the kitchen as up here,” she said, “and I can keep busy till Imogene comes down.  And, besides, we’d better be puttin’ Georgie’s stockin’ and his presents in the livin’-room.  The poor little shaver’s got to have his Christmas, even though his Santa Claus did turn out to be a walkin’ rag-bag.”

Emily started.  “Why, it is Christmas, isn’t it!” she exclaimed.  “Between returned brothers and,” with a little shiver, “ghosts, I forgot entirely.”

She kissed her cousin’s cheek.

“A merry Christmas, Aunt Thankful,” she said.

Thankful returned the kiss.  “Same to you, dearie, and many of ’em,” she replied.  “Well, here’s another Christmas day come to me.  A year ago I didn’t think I’d be here.  I wonder where I’ll be next Christmas.  Will I have a home of my own or will what I’ve thought was my home belong to Sol Cobb or Holliday Kendrick?”

“Hush, Auntie, hush!  Your home won’t be taken from you.  It would be too mean, too dreadful!  God won’t permit such a thing.”