"What a romantic idea," Edna said. "It's like something out of a Bronte novel."

It was on the tip of my tongue to say the whole story was ridiculous when Mrs. Whitman appeared with the coffee. She handed me my cup first, then gave a cup to one of the shop girls, who rather than thanking her, said, "Mr. Whitman has been frightening us with ghost stories, so it won't be the coffee that keeps me awake tonight."

"Nathaniel, you and your ghosts," Mrs. Whitman frowned.

"What? It's Halloween after all," he said.

"That any Christian man would find pleasure on the devil's day," his wife scolded. "And these poor young ladies mourning their uncle--you'll have them so frightened they won't dare go live in the woods, though perhaps that would be a good thing."

"It really wasn't that frightening," Adele said. "It was more of a love story."

"Well, I don't know whether that's any better or any more true," Mrs. Whitman replied. "Those love stories are all make-believe and can do a great deal of harm."

The End