AT THE CORNER OF LOVERS' LANE
The story teller paused a moment, and they all sat there thinking. It was a theme to appeal to the sons of fathers.
"They say," the story teller added, as he took out his pipe, "that every year on the anniversary—on the anniversary—on the—but it isn't so! it can't be so!" he ended in a low, tremulous whisper.
"Good Heavens, fellows!" exclaimed one of the others; "what's that? Look, coming up the road there! No fooling, what is it?"
"Do you see it, too?" whispered the story teller in a genuinely frightened tone. "Don't have fun with me! Do you swear that you see something?"
They were all looking now, and they saw, coming steadily up the grade and as quietly as though the road was covered with soft mud, which it was not, a bulky white figure seated in an open wagon drawn by two white horses which moved their legs but made no noise. It came nearer. It still made no noise. Beside the big white bulky figure was a smaller white one leaning against it. It was so awfully silent! It was now almost
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