"Let me look again!" I said, and kneeling down, I peeped in.

"Do you mean to say you can't see a dog's face and eyes looking straight
at us?" I asked.

"No," he answered, "I can see nothing." And to prove to me the truth of
what he said, he fetched a pole and raked about the kennel vigorously
with it. We both, then, tried to make Mack enter, and Morgan at last
caught hold of him and placed him forcibly inside. Mack's terror knew no
limit. He gave one loud howl, and flying out of the kennel with his ears
hanging back, tore past into the front garden, where we left him in
peace. Morgan was still sceptical as to there being anything wrong with
the kennel, but two days later wrote to me as follows:--

"I must apologize for doubting you the other day. I have just had, what
you declared you saw, corroborated. A friend of my wife's was calling
here this afternoon, and, on hearing of Mack's refusal to sleep in the
kennel, at once said, 'I know what's the matter. It's the smell. Mack
scents the poison which was used to destroy Zack. Have the kennel
thoroughly fumigated, and you'll have no more trouble.' At my wife's
request she went into the yard to have a look at it, and the moment she
bent down, she cried out like you did, 'Why, there's a dog inside--a
terrier!' My wife and I both looked and could see nothing. The lady,
however, persisted, and, on my handing her a stick, struck at the figure
she saw. To her amazement the stick went right through it. Then, and not
till then, did we tell her of your experience. 'Well!' she exclaimed,
'I have never believed in ghosts, but I do so now. I am quite certain
that what I see is the phantom of Zack! How glad I am, because I am at
last assured animals have spirits and can come back to us.'"