On the lawn, still wet with dew, and crossed by the shadows of the bare elms, Atherley's little sons, Harold and Denis, were playing with a very unlovely but much-beloved mongrel called Tip. They had bought him with their own pocket-money from a tinker who was ill-using him, and then claimed for him the hospitality of their parents; so, though Atherley often spoke of the dog as a disgrace to the household, he remained a member thereof, and received, from a family incapable of being uncivil, far less unkind, to an animal, as much attention as if he had been high-bred and beautiful--which indeed he plainly supposed himself to be. When, about an hour later, after their daily custom, this almost inseparable trio fell into the breakfast-room as if the door had suddenly given way before them, the boys were able to revenge themselves for the rebuke this entrance provoked by the tidings they brought with them. "I say, old Mallet is going," cried Harold cheerfully, as he wriggled himself on to his chair. "Denis, mind I want some of that egg-stuff." "Take your arms off the table, Harold," said Lady Atherley. "Pray, how do you know Mrs. Mallet is going?" "She said so herself. She said," he went on, screwing up his nose and speaking in a falsetto to express the intensity of his scorn--"she said she was afraid of the ghost." "I told you I did not allow that word to be mentioned." "I did not; it was old Mallet." "But, pray, what were you doing in old Mallet's domain?" asked Atherley. "Cooking cabbage for Tip." "Hum! What with ghosts by night and boys by day, our cook seems to have a pleasant time of it; I shall be glad when Miss Jones's holidays are over. Castleman, is it true that Mrs. Mallet talks of leaving us because of the ghost?" "I am sure I don't know, Sir George," answered the old butler. "She was going on about it very foolish this morning." "And how is the kitchen-maid?" "Has not come down yet, Sir George; says her nerve is shook," said Castleman, retiring with a plate to the sideboard; then added, with the freedom of an old servant, "Bile, _I_ should say." "Probably. We had better send for Doctor What's-his-name." "The usual doctor is away," said Lady Atherley. "There is a London doctor in his place. He is clever, Lady Sylvia said, but he gives himself airs." "Never mind what he gives himself if he gives his patients the right thing." "And after all we can manage very well without Ann, but what are we to do about Mrs. Mallet? I always told you how it would be." "But, my dear, it is not my fault. You look as reproachfully at me as if it were my ghost which was causing all this disturbance instead of the ghost of a remote ancestor--predecessor, in fact." "No, but you will always talk just as if it was of no consequence." "I don't talk of the cook's going as being of no consequence. Far from it. But you must not let her go, that is all." "How can I prevent her going? I think you had better talk to her yourself."