Martha’s answer was quietly given.

“Why, good gracious, Jethro!” she observed, “why shouldn’t we stand up?  Mr. Bangs and I came over to spend the evenin’ with Lulie.  We didn’t know you and Marietta and Ophelia and the rest were goin’ to hold any—­er—­what do you call ’em?—­seances.  We’ll run right along and leave you to enjoy yourselves.  Come, Mr. Bangs.”

For some reason or other this reply appeared to irritate the light keeper exceedingly.  He glared at her.

“Set down, both of you,” he ordered.  “I want you to.  ’Twill do you good.  No, you ain’t goin’, neither.  Lulie, you tell ’em to stay here.”

His manner was so determined and the light in his eye so ominous that his daughter was alarmed.

“Oh, do stay, Martha,” she pleaded.  “Won’t you please stay, you and Mr. Bangs?  I think it will be for the best, truly I do.  Please stay.”

Martha looked at her lodger.  Galusha smiled.

“I shall be very glad to remain,” he observed.  “Indeed yes, really.”

Miss Phipps nodded.  “All right, Lulie,” she said, quietly.  “We’ll stay.”

They took chairs in the back row of the double circle.  Primmie, eyes and mouth open and agog with excitement, had already seated herself.  Captain Jethro looked about the room.

“Are we all ready,” he growled.  “Eh?  Who’s that comin’?  Oh, it’s you.  Well, set down and keep quiet.”

It was Mr. Bloomer who had re-entered the room and was received so unceremoniously.  He glanced at Galusha Bangs, winked the eye which the captain could not see, and sat down next to Primmie.

“Now then,” said Captain Jeth, who was evidently master of ceremonies, “if you’re all ready, Marietta, I cal’late we are.  Cast off!  Heave ahead!”

But Miss Hoag seemed troubled; evidently she was not ready to cast off and heave ahead.

“Why—­why, Cap’n Jeth,” she faltered, “I can’t.  Don’t you know I can’t?  Everybody’s got to take hands—­and the lights must be turned way down—­and—­and we’ve got to have some music.”

The captain pulled his beard.  “Humph!” he grunted.  “That’s so, I forgot.  Don’t know what’s the matter with me to-night, seem to be kind of—­of upset or somethin’.  Zach, turn them lamps down; more’n that, way down low. . . .  That’ll do.  Now all hands hold hands.  Make a—­a kind of ring out of yourselves.  That’s it.  Now what else was it, Marietta?”

“Music,” faltered Miss Hoag, who seemed rather overawed by the captain’s intensity and savage earnestness.  “We always have music, you know, to establish the—­the contact.  Have somebody play the organ.  ’Phelia, you play it; you know how.”

Miss Ophelia Beebe, sister of the village storekeeper, was a tall, angular woman garbed in black.  Her facial expression was as mournful as her raiment.  She rose with a rustle and moved toward the ancient melodeon.  Lulie spoke hurriedly.