eighty-four while he divided his gaze between this and the next
lingering visitation of that strange, long, shadowy thing over the
graveyard. He struck match after match, as each blew out. Yes, that was
what three short flashes meant--S. And one long flash meant T.

Suppose--_suppose_ there should be three _long_ appearances now? That
would be O. Were these signs, expressed in ghostly strangeness, just the
figments of Peter's excited imagination? Just the Morse Code haunting
him and coloring his fancy? He put his finger on the black symbol on the
page and waited.

--Two--three--then a pause.

S--T--O

His finger held upon the page trembled as he lighted another match and
still another and moved his finger to another printed symbol on the
page. And the long, dusty column over beyond the graveyard, came and
went, now for a second, now for several, now for several again, then for
one short second.

"STOP!" said Peter, his voice shaking as if indeed some ghostly spectre
were upon him. Somebody, somebody was talking to him! Some scout, in
real khaki attire, out in the great world?

Peter did not know where to place his waiting finger next. A mighty hand
had been raised in the black, solemn night, and had said _Stop_. Had
sprawled it across the open page of the heaven. Peter waited, as one
waits for a spirit to give some sign. He kept his eyes riveted upon the
general service code, lighting match after match and throwing them on