HAMISH'S CANDLES.

Old Judith sat in her kitchen. Her hands were clasped upon her knees,
and her head was bent in thought. Rare indeed was it to catch Judith
indulging in a moment's idleness. She appeared to be holding soliloquy
with herself.

"It's the most incomprehensible thing in the world! I have heard of
ghosts--and, talking about ghosts, that child was in a tremor, last
night, again--I'm sure he was. Brave little heart! he goes up to bed in
the dark on purpose to break himself of the fear. I went in for them
shirts missis told me of, and he started like anything, and his face
turned white. He hadn't heard me till I was in the room; I'd no candle,
and 'twas enough to startle him. 'Oh, is it you, Judith?' said he,
quietly, making believe to be as indifferent as may be. I struck a
light, for I couldn't find the shirts, and then I saw his white face.
He can't overget the fear: 'twas implanted in him in babyhood: and I
only wish I could get that wicked girl punished as I'd punish her, for
it was her work. But about the t'other? I have heard of ghosts
walking--though, thank goodness, I'm not frightened at 'em, like the
child is!--but for a young man to go upstairs, night after night,
pretending to go to rest, and sitting up till morning light, is what I
never did hear on. If it was once in a way, 'twould be a different
thing; but it's always. I'm sure it's pretty nigh a year since--"

"Why, Judith, you are in a brown study!"

The interruption came from Constance, who had entered the kitchen to