the stairs, for we couldn't lie still, however hard we might try.
Going into the ghost room was regarded as a very great scootcher.
After venturing in a few steps and rushing back in terror, I used to
dare David to go as far without getting caught.

The roof of our house, as well as the crags and walls of the old
castle, offered fine mountaineering exercise. Our bedroom was lighted
by a dormer window. One night I opened it in search of good scootchers
and hung myself out over the slates, holding on to the sill, while the
wind was making a balloon of my nightgown. I then dared David to try
the adventure, and he did. Then I went out again and hung by one
hand, and David did the same. Then I hung by one finger, being careful
not to slip, and he did that too. Then I stood on the sill and
examined the edge of the left wall of the window, crept up the slates
along its side by slight finger-holds, got astride of the roof, sat
there a few minutes looking at the scenery over the garden wall while
the wind was howling and threatening to blow me off, then managed to
slip down, catch hold of the sill, and get safely back into the room.
But before attempting this scootcher, recognizing its dangerous
character, with commendable caution I warned David that in case I
should happen to slip I would grip the rain-trough when I was going
over the eaves and hang on, and that he must then run fast downstairs
and tell father to get a ladder for me, and tell him to be quick
because I would soon be tired hanging dangling in the wind by my
hands. After my return from this capital scootcher, David, not to be
outdone, crawled up to the top of the window-roof, and got bravely
astride of it; but in trying to return he lost courage and began to
greet (to cry), "I canna get doon. Oh, I canna get doon." I leaned out
of the window and shouted encouragingly, "Dinna greet, Davie, dinna
greet, I'll help ye doon. If you greet, fayther will hear, and gee us