Aunt Sarah set down the candle, and faced Barbara severely. “I was aroused from sleep a few moments ago by a noise in the next room,” she said. “It sounded like a scream from Archie, and I sat up in bed and listened. I heard a deep voice in the children’s room, saying, ‘I am the Holy Ghost,’ and other irreverent things which I cannot, at this moment, recall. I knew that no burglar would stop for that announcement, so I quietly opened the door and looked in. A figure in a sheet was standing between the two beds, with arms outstretched over the two boys.” “What!” exclaimed Barbara. “It was Cecilia, of course,” continued Aunt Sarah. “The dear little lads were speechless with fright and horror, and that bad child was claiming to be the Holy Ghost, and threatening all sorts of terrible things to them if they tore David’s books again. I sent her back to bed at once, and tried to reassure the boys, but they were in a sad state of terror. They tell me that this has gone on from night to night. They know, of course, that it _is_ Cecilia, but they are timid by nature, and they have been in a pitiable frame of mind. I have noticed, ever since our arrival, that they have been slightly unmanageable, and this explains it all; New Thought cannot work against a supernatural fear. Now, the question is, what are you going to do with Gassy?” Wicked Barbara suppressed a chuckle as she debated. “Well, I think I’ll let her sleep till morning, Aunt Sarah,” she said aloud, soberly. “Then I’ll see what I can do with her. It was very wrong of her, of course, and I’m sorry that you and the boys have been put to so much distress. It isn’t like Cecilia to be cruel.” “It is exactly what I should expect of her,” was the sharp reply. “Cecilia I like the least of any of my niece’s children. She is _naturally_ an inhuman sort of child, without the slightest trace of affection for any one; and then she has always been allowed to have her own way, until she is most unmanageable. Elizabeth and your father have spoiled all of their children, but the result is most obvious in Cecilia. She ought to be severely dealt with for a trick of this kind. Reverence, if not simple humanity, should have deterred her. But none of you children seem to have any reverence for anything. I think I shall speak to Cecilia, myself, this morning.” “Oh, please don’t, Aunt Sarah,” exclaimed Barbara, impulsively. “You know how sensitive Cecilia is, and how hard to handle! I think that if I talk to her first, I can make her sorry for frightening the boys. But she doesn’t li—”