paused; someone was coming up the hill; and soon they
distinguished the stalwart form of the son. Sammy coming from the
house with an empty bucket met the young man at the gate, and the
two went toward the spring together.

In silence the men on the porch watched the moon as she slowly
pushed her way up through the leafy screen on the mountain wall.
Higher and higher she climbed until her rays fell into the valley
below, and the drifting mists from ridge to ridge became a sea of
ghostly light. It was a weird scene, almost supernatural in its
beauty.

Then from down at the spring a young girl's laugh rose clearly,
and the big mountaineer said in a low tone, "Mr. Howitt, you've
got education; it's easy to see that; I've always wanted to ask
somebody like you, do you believe in hants? Do you reckon folks
ever come back once they're dead and gone?"

The man from the city saw that his big host was terribly in
earnest, and answered quietly, "No, I do not believe in such
things, Mr. Matthews; but if it should be true, I do not see why
we should fear the dead."

The other shook his head; "I don't know--I don't know, sir; I
always said I didn't believe, but some things is mighty queer." He
seemed to be shaping his thought for further speech, when again
the girl's laugh rang clear along the mountain side. The young
people were returning from the spring.

The mountaineer relighted his pipe, while Young Matt and Sammy