"I doubt we are not sufficiently alive to our privileges," Bessie
said.

"It's fine moonlight," said the boys, who, seeing that they and every
one had ceased eating, were impatient to be out again. "Come, Mr.
Parker, we'll show you the echo: Mr. Forrester, come."

"I'll go too," said Mrs. Parker; and they all went but the Rose, who
stayed behind for a little to direct about household matters.

The echo was a favorite with the boys, it gave such unlimited scope
to their powers of shouting: it was the _sight_ they most enjoyed
exhibiting to strangers. And it was an echo that could repeat every
word of a sentence with such perfection that it was difficult to
believe that it was not a human being shouting back from the
other side of the park, where stood some houses inhabited by the
farm-servants and their families.

"Hallo, Abbot John! is that you?" shouted one of the boys, and
the other cried, "Yes, I'm taking a walk," so quickly that the one
sentence seemed the answer to the other, and both came back loud and
distinct on the still night-air.

"Are the Ormistons ancient? It's all fudge," shouted John.

"Well," said Mr. Parker, "that's the most perfect echo I ever heard.
I've no doubt the holy fathers of the Middle Ages knew of it, and used
it in some shape to keep the superstitious people in awe."

"It is awesome," said his wife, "here in the moonlight, with the old