not to be afraid to come to him with all their little problems.
Then he lighted his lamp and took up a bulky new book which was
setting the theological world by the ears. He would read just
one chapter to compose his mind. Five minutes later he was lost
to the world and the troubles of the world.



CHAPTER XXIX. A WEIRD TALE

On an early June evening Rainbow Valley was an entirely
delightful place and the children felt it to be so, as they sat
in the open glade where the bells rang elfishly on the Tree
Lovers, and the White Lady shook her green tresses. The wind was
laughing and whistling about them like a leal, glad-hearted
comrade. The young ferns were spicy in the hollow. The wild
cherry trees scattered over the valley, among the dark firs, were
mistily white. The robins were whistling over in the maples
behind Ingleside. Beyond, on the slopes of the Glen, were
blossoming orchards, sweet and mystic and wonderful, veiled in
dusk. It was spring, and young things MUST be glad in spring.
Everybody was glad in Rainbow Valley that evening--until Mary
Vance froze their blood with the story of Henry Warren's ghost.

Jem was not there. Jem spent his evenings now studying for his
entrance examination in the Ingleside garret. Jerry was down
near the pond, trouting. Walter had been reading Longfellow's
sea poems to the others and they were steeped in the beauty and
mystery of the ships. Then they talked of what they would do
when they were grown up--where they would travel--the far, fair