She did not see the form of Peter in advance of her; but he paused a moment for breath, and saw the supposed form of Penelope pursuing him, “all in white.” It stimulated his resolution to gain the town. It was a mile or more from the Mount Hope farms to the old village, and Peter fleeing from the ghost, and Aunt Prudence from the robber, went over this distance in a very brief part of the midnight hour. “The Bristol clock struck the hour of twelve. An out-of-town Christmas Eve party were returning home at this late hour on foot, and on the skirts of the village were surprised by Peter, wrapped in his odd blanket. The merry-makers knew him well, laughed, and plied him with questions. “The ghost!” he shrieked, as soon as he could recover his voice, and pointed to the hill. “Penelope!” The astonished young people looked in the direction in which Peter had pointed. There surely was a tall white form that seemed to have wings and to come half flying toward them through the air. They had heard of such things, but had never seen one before. Had they numbered but two or three, they would have fled; but there were some ten or twelve in the party, and they waited the coming of the strange apparition. “’Tis me she’s after—Penelope—’tis me,” screamed Peter. “The Lord have mercy upon me! My time is come now, true as preachin’.” The white figure was soon before them. It no sooner reached the place than it sunk down upon the earth. “Take me home with you; there’s a robber in the house!” A ghost and a robber! “It’s Aunt Prudence Wardwell,” said one of the young men, after a pause, on hearing such a midnight tale. “Why, Aunt Prudence, what _is_ the matter?” “Protect me—take me home, somewhere. Oh, there’s a robber in the house,—a robber!” “Here’s Peter,” said the young man. “I thought he lived with you.” “Peter?” gasped the woman all in white. “Yes. Here, Peter, what _does_ this mean?” “I—I—thought, oh, I thought, Aunt Prudence, that you was a ghost. I did, true as preachin’.” “How did you get here, Peter? Oh, there’s a robber in the house. Did you hear me when I called you? I saw him enter by the window,—saw him with my own eyes, Peter. He’s hid in the old smoke chamber. Oh, Peter, where shall we go, oh! oh!” It was all clear to Peter now, painfully clear; the cloud had lifted. “It was _me_, Aunty.” “What?” Aunt Prudence’s tall form rose slowly. “It was me who got into the house by the window.” “You?” “Yes—I must confess—I run away and went to the town to the festival. I did—I must confess—true as preachin’.” “You?” “Yes.” “Oh, Peter, let’s go home. What two dreadful-looking objects we are! I ain’t afraid of ghosts.” “And I ain’t afraid of no robbers, nor no such. What a time we’ve made of it!—and the folks will all laugh at us too. Let’s go home. That’s the place for us, true as preachin’.”