asking their advice. A well-attested old-fashion ghost story, where such is to be had, is worth a thousand seances. “Do _you_ believe in ghosts, papa?” resumed Cosmo, noting his father’s silence, and remembering that he had never heard him utter an opinion on the subject. “The master says none but fools believe in them now; and he makes such a face at anything he calls superstition, that you would think it must be somewhere in the commandments.” “Mr. Simon remarked the other day in my hearing,” answered his father, “that the dread of superstition might amount to superstition, and become the most dangerous superstition of all.” “Do you think so, papa?” “I could well believe it. Besides, I have always found Mr. Simon so reasonable, even where I could not follow him, that I am prejudiced in favor of anything he thinks.” The boy rejoiced to hear his father talk thus, for he had a strong leaning to the marvellous, and hitherto, from the schoolmaster’s assertion and his father’s silence, had supposed nothing was to be accepted for belief but what was scientifically probable, or was told in the Bible. That we live in a universe of marvels of which we know only the outsides,--and which we turn into the incredible by taking the mere outsides for all, even while we know the roots of the seen remain unseen--these spiritual facts now began to dawn upon him, and fell in most naturally with those his mind had already conceived and entertained. He was therefore delighted at the thought of making the closer acquaintance of a man like Mr. Simon--a man of whose peculiarities even, his father could speak in such terms. All day long he brooded on the prospect, and in the twilight went out wandering over the hills. There was no night there at this season, any more than all the year through in heaven. Indeed we have seldom real positive night in this world--so many provisions have been made against it. Every time we say, “What a lovely night!” we speak of a breach, a rift in the old night. There is light more or less, positive light, else were there no beauty. Many a night is but a low starry day, a day with a softened background against which the far-off suns of millions of other days show themselves: when the near vision vanishes the farther hope awakes. It is nowhere said of heaven, there shall be no twilight there. CHAPTER IX. THE STUDENT. The twilight had not yet reached the depth of its mysteriousness, when Cosmo, returning home from casting a large loop of wandering over several hills, walked up to James Gracie’s cottage, thinking whether they would not all be in bed. But as he passed the window, he saw a little light, and went on to the door and knocked: had it been the daytime, he would have gone straight in. Agnes came, and opened cautiously, for there were occasionally such beings as tramps about.