One morning, after the gift of an exceptionally large tin of toffee, William’s noblest feelings were aroused.  Manfully he decided that something should happen to her.

Cousin Mildred slept in the bedroom above William’s.  Descent from one window to the other was easy, but ascent was difficult.  That night Cousin Mildred awoke suddenly as the clock struck twelve.  There was no moon, and only dimly did she discern the white figure that stood in the light of the window.  She sat up, quivering with eagerness.  Her short, thin little pigtail, stuck out horizontally from her head.  Her mouth was wide open.

[Illustration:  SHE SAT UP, QUIVERING WITH EAGERNESS.  HER SHORT, THIN LITTLE PIGTAIL STUCK OUT HORIZONTALLY FROM HER HEAD.  HER MOUTH WAS WIDE OPEN.]

“Oh!” she gasped.

The white figure moved a step forward and coughed nervously.

Cousin Mildred clasped her hands.

“Speak!” she said, in a tense whisper.  “Oh, speak!  Some message!  Some revelation.”

William was nonplussed.  None of the ghosts he had read of had spoken.  They had rattled and groaned and beckoned, but they had not spoken.  He tried groaning and emitted a sound faintly reminiscent of a sea-sick voyager.

“Oh, speak!” pleaded Cousin Mildred.

Evidently speech was a necessary part of this performance.  William wondered whether ghosts spoke English or a language of their own.  He inclined to the latter view and nobly took the plunge.

“Honk.  Yonk.  Ponk,” he said, firmly.

Cousin Mildred gasped in wonder.

“Oh, explain,” she pleaded, ardently.  “Explain in our poor human speech.  Some message——­”

William took fright.  It was all turning out to be much more complicated than he had expected.  He hastily passed through the room and out of the door, closing it noisily behind him.  As he ran along the passage came a sound like a crash of thunder.  Outside in the passage were Cousin Mildred’s boots, William’s father’s boots, and William’s brother’s boots, and into these charged William in his headlong retreat.  They slid noisily along the polished wooden surface of the floor, ricochetting into each other as they went.  Doors opened suddenly and William’s father collided with William’s brother in the dark passage, where they wrestled fiercely before they discovered each other’s identity.

“I heard that confounded noise and I came out——­”

“So did I.”

“Well, then, who made it?”

“Who did?”

“If it’s that wretched boy up to any tricks again——­”

William’s father left the sentence unfinished, but went with determined tread towards his younger son’s room.  William was discovered, carefully spreading a sheet over his bed and smoothing it down.

Mr. Brown, roused from his placid slumbers, was a sight to make a brave man quail, but the glance that William turned upon him was guileless and sweet.