length above his head.

"Oh, Uncle Dave, I'll never do it again! Never! Never! Let me down."

Still holding him aloft as a hunter would hold a falcon, the
reincarnated "spirit" laughed long, loud and merrily, the echoes of his
laughter ringing up the valley like a peal from a chime of bells. The
child's fear was needless, for the heart and hands that dealt with him
were as gentle as a woman's. The youth, resembling some old Norse god as
he stood there in the gathering gloom, lowered the child slowly, and
printing a kiss on his cheek, said:

"Thee little pest, thee has no reverence! Thee should never disturb a
child at his play, a bird on his nest nor a man at his prayers."

"But thee was not praying, Uncle Dave," the boy replied. "Thee was only
in another of thy tantrums. The supper has grown cold, the horses are
tired and Shep and I have walked a mile to call thee. Grandmother said
thee had a trance. Tell me what thee has seen in thy visions, Uncle
Dave?"

"God and His angels," said the young mystic softly, falling again into
the mood from which he had been so rudely awakened.

"Angels!" scoffed the young materialist. "If thee was thinking of any
angel at all, I will bet thee it was Dorothy Fraser."

"Tush, child, do not be silly," replied the convicted culprit. For it
was easier than he would care to admit to mingle visions of beauty with
those of holiness.