"Yes, ghosts and goblins, my boy.

You don't believe it ?--I do--or I persuade myself I do, which is better.

Sometimes I can see them straddling the chimes when they ring out the hours, or I catch them peeping out between the slats of the windows away up near the cross.

Very often in the hot afternoons when you are stretching your lazy body under the tents of the mighty--" (Peter referred to some friends of mine who owned a villa down on Long Island, and were good enough to ask me down for a week in August) "I come up here out of the rush and sit on these old tombstones and talk to these old fellows--both kinds--the steeple boys and the old cronies under the sod.

You never come, I know.