Suddenly, just above that silent, hallowed little area, a tall gray
thing appeared, then disappeared as suddenly.

Peter trembled, yet gazed in fascination. He was fearful of he knew not
what. Yet he could not withdraw his eyes from that spot. Had
someone--some _thing_ from that little graveyard come to his window and
gone back again to its musty rest? Was it--_could_ it be--?

Hardly had he the chance to think and conjure up some harrowing fear,
when the dusky column appeared again, then disappeared, then appeared
again. Then darkness.

Whatever put it into Peter Piper's head he never know, but quick like
those very flashes occurred to him the very words that he had been
saying over and over to himself but a few minutes before--saying over
and committing to memory. "Three dots or flashes--S, three dots or
flashes--three dots or flashes--"

Again it arose, that ghostly apparition, and filled the dark sky above
the little graveyard. This time it remained, for one, two, three, four
seconds.

Peter's hand trembled now from a new kind of excitement, as he groped
behind him for his one poor scout possession, the handbook. Then he
reached for the lamp, but the night wind blew it out just as the tall
thing came again, and stayed for several seconds.

Peter groped for the little box of safety matches which always lay near
the lamp. These were the chief ornaments of his little room, the lamp
and the safety matches. He held a match close over page two hundred and