"Then since it was her own free will, I suppose you feel it was predestined, don't you?" "Perhaps," said Doris politely, for she never could keep that free-will-predestination puzzle quite straight in her mind--though she was very sure father was right about it. "And what have you been doing since that night?" "Washing, and ironing, and cooking, and helping the girls with their lessons, and scolding father, and patching. What have you been doing?" "I? Oh, I have been haunting." "You have been--what? Now you are teasing again. I never knew any one as grown up as you who teased so much. Do you live in this part of town?" "You know we haunts just live around in the air, and do our ghosting when the ghosting's good." "Oh, let's talk sense. I expected to see you before this." "I have seen you frequently." "You have! I haven't seen you once, and I have been looking for you." "One morning I saw you digging potatoes in the garden of the manse. And your father stuck his head out the window and scolded you." "He doesn't approve of my digging potatoes, but he is so busy all the time he forgets and so if I wake up early enough I sneak out and do it to get ahead of him." "And one morning I saw you flying down the middle of the road in a kimono, yelling at the milk man." "We were going to have company for luncheon, and I forgot to leave a message in the bottle that I wanted cream," explained Doris, flushing. "And one morning, very early, I saw you run out-of-doors in a shower, barefooted, and your hair hanging, and you wore your father's old coat and hat, I think, and you were gobbling tablecloths off the line." "They did not dry, and I left them on the line over night. But the shower came up, and I had to rush after them." "And one morning--" "Don't you ever sleep? How does it come that you always see me some ghastly hour in the morning? Why don't you appear about three in the afternoon, when I am nicely brushed and have on a fresh dress, and look like a preacher?" "Morning is my own particular time of day. So beware how you venture out, for you can't escape my eyes." "You must be a milk man." He only laughed. "Now tell me the truth, have you thought of me once since the da--party?" "Yes, not being a regular sphinx, I have. I have thought of you very often--you are the funniest thing I ever saw. But somehow I did not expect to see you at church." He joined her laughter. "Come in and have dinner with us," she said warmly. "Please do. I am a wonderful cook. Zee says my mashed potatoes taste almost exactly like--plum pudding. Would you consider that a compliment?" "By all means. But I can not come for dinner to-day. We wizards do not eat, you know. Be kind now, and get into more morning difficulties so I may laugh at you, will you?" Doris walked into the manse with a very thoughtful air.