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“Who was he, mother? Tell me.”

“Who, my darling? No one is here. You have been dreaming, love. Waken up quite. See, it is broad daylight.”

“Yes,” said Ailsie, looking round her, then clinging to her mother, “but a man was here in the night, mother.”

“Nonsense, little goose; no man has ever come near you.”

“Yes he did. He stood there, just by Norah–a man with hair and a beard; and he knelt down and said his prayers. Norah knows he was here, mother” (half angrily, as Mrs. Openshaw shook her head in smiling incredulity).

“Well, we will ask Norah when she comes,” said Mrs. Openshaw, soothingly.”But we won’t talk any more about him now. It is not five o’clock; it is too early for you to get up. Shall I fetch you a book and read to you?”

“Don’t leave me, mother,” said the child, clinging to her. So Mrs. Openshaw sat on the bedside talking to Ailsie, and telling her of what they had done at Richmond the evening before, until the little girl’s eyes slowly closed, and she once more fell asleep.

“What was the matter?” asked Mr. Openshaw, as his wife returned to bed.

“Ailsie wakened up in a fright, with some story of a man having been in the room to say his prayers–a dream, I suppose.” And no more was said at the time.

Mrs. Openshaw had almost forgotten the whole affair when she got up about seven o’clock. But by-and-by she heard a sharp altercation going on in the nursery–Norah speaking angrily to Ailsie, a most unusual thing. Both Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw listened in astonishment.

“Hold your tongue, Ailsie! let me hear none of your dreams; never let me hear you tell that story again!” Ailsie began to cry.

Mr. Openshaw opened the door of communication before his wife could say a word.

“Norah, come here!”

The nurse stood at the door, defiant. She perceived she had been heard, but she was desperate.

“Don’t let me hear you speak in that manner to Ailsie again,” he said sternly, and shut the door.

Norah was infinitely relieved, for she had dreaded some questioning; and a little blame for sharp speaking was what she could well bear, if cross-examination was let alone.

Down stairs they went, Mr. Openshaw carrying Ailsie; the sturdy Edwin coming step by step, right foot foremost, always holding his mother’s hand. Each child was placed in a chair by the breakfast-table, and then Mr. and Mrs. Openshaw stood together at the window, awaiting their visitors’ appearance and making plans for the day. There was a pause. Suddenly Mr. Openshaw turned to Ailsie and said,

“What a little goosey somebody is with her dreams, wakening up poor, tired mother in the middle of the night with a story of a man being in the room.”

“Father, I’m sure I saw him,” said Ailsie, half crying.”I don’t want to make Norah angry; but I was not asleep, for all she says I was. I had been asleep–and I wakened up quite wide awake, though I was so frightened. I kept my eyes nearly shut, and I saw the man quite plain–a great brown man with a beard. He said his prayers. And then he looked at Edwin. And then Norah took him by the arm and led him away, after they had whispered a bit together.”

“Now, my little woman must be reasonable,” said Mr. Openshaw, who was always patient with Ailsie.”There was no man in the house last night at
all. No man comes into the house, as you know, if you think, much less goes up into the nursery. But sometimes we dream something has happened, and the dream is so like reality that you are not the first person, little woman, who has stood out that the thing has really happened.”