"Oh, yes I am," she replied; "better able than to stay at home and worry. I must have something settled, and my mind at rest, even for a little while, or I shall go distracted." Then she added, "Did you see Malcom here early this morning?" "No, Miss Edie, he hasn't been here." "Go look at the garden." He returned with eyes dilated in wonder, and asked quickly, "Miss Edie, when was all dat done?" "Between dark last night and when I got up this morning. It seems like magic, don't it? But of course it is Malcom's work. I only wish I could see him." But Hannibal shook his head ominously and said with emphasis, "Dat little Scotchman couldn't scratch around like dat, even if de debil was arter him. 'Tain't his work." "Why, whose else could it be?" asked Edith, sipping a strong cup of coffee, with which she was fortifying herself for the walk. Hannibal only shook his head with a very troubled expression, but at last he ventured: "If 'tis a spook, I hope it won't do nothin' wuss to us." Even across Edith's pale face a wan smile flitted at this solution of the mystery, and she said: "Why, Hannibal, you foolish old fellow! The idea of a ghost hoeing a strawberry-bed and sticking in bean-poles!" But Hannibal's superstitious nature was deeply stirred. He had been under a severe strain himself of late, and the succession of sorrows and strange experiences was telling on him as well as on the others. He could not indulge in a nervous fever, like Mrs. Allen, but he had reached that stage when he could easily see visions, and tremble before the slightest vestige of the supernatural. So he replied a little doggedly: "Spooks does a heap ob quar tings, Miss Edie. I'd tink it was Massa Allen, ony I knows dat he neber hab a hoe in his hand all his life. I doesn't like it. I'd radder hab de weeds." "O Hannibal, Hannibal! I couldn't believe it of you. I'll go and see Malcom, just to satisfy you." CHAPTER XXIII A DANGEROUS STEP Edith took her deed, and went first to Mr. Hard. There were both coldness and curiosity in his manner, but he could gather little from Edith's face through her thick veil. She had a painful shrinking from meeting people again after what had happened, and this was greatly increased by the curious and significant looks she saw turned toward her as soon as it was surmised who she was. Mr. Hard promptly declined to lend any money. He "never did such things," he said. "Where would I be apt to get it?" asked Edith, despondently. "I scarcely know. Money is scarce, and people don't like to lend it on country mortgages, especially when there may be trouble. Lawyer Keen might give you some information." To his office Edith went, with slow, heavy steps, and presented her case.