"Can't anybody keep death away, Matty?" inquired Virginia, an expression of awe clouding her eyes. She was thinking of the man upstairs whom she but twice had called "father." "Nope, not after the warnin' comes to him. Now Grandad Woggles had that warnin' as much as three days afore the angel clim' the fence and flopped about his house. But don't keep breakin' in on me, little missy, 'cause I cain't finish if ye do, and I'se jest reachin' the thrillin' part." "Oh, then hurry," urged Jinnie. "Well, as I was sayin', Betty set by the ole man, starin' into his yeller face; 'twas as yeller as Milly Ann's back, his face was." "Some yeller," murmured Virginia, fondling Milly Ann. "Sure! Everybody dyin' gets yeller," informed Matty. Virginia thought again of the sick man upstairs. His face was white, not yellow, and her heart bounded with great hope. He might live yet a little while. Yes, he surely would! Matty was an authority when she told of the dead and dying, of the spirits which filled the pine trees, and it seldom occurred to Virginia to doubt the black woman's knowledge. She wanted her father to live! Life seemed so dizzily upset with no Matty, with no Milly Ann, and no--father, somewhere in the world. Matty's next words, spoken in a sepulchral whisper, bore down on her with emphasis. "Then what do ye think, honey bunch?" "I don't know!" Virginia leaned forward expectantly. "Jest as Betty was hangin' fast onto her grandpa's spirit, another ghost, some spots of black on him, come right longside the white one, wavin' his hands's if he was goin' to fly." Virginia sat up very straight. Two spirits on the scene of Grandpa Woggles' passing made the story more interesting, more thrilling. Her sparkling eyes gave a new impetus to the colored woman's wagging tongue. "The white spirit, he sez, 'What _you_ hangin' round here fer?'" Matty rolled her eyes upward. "This he sez to the black one, mind you!" Virginia nodded comprehendingly, keeping her eyes glued on the shining dark face in front of her. She always dreaded, during the exciting parts of Matty's nightly stories, to see, by chance, the garden, with its trees and the white, silent graveyard beyond. And, although she had no fear of tangible things, she seldom looked out of doors when Matty crooned over her ghost stories. Just then a bell pealed through the house. Matty rose heavily. "It's yer pa," she grumbled. "I'll finish when I git back."