I admit I was shaken, but being a person of iron nerve in facing such phenomena, I continued to play "Yankee Doodle." In spite of this counter-attraction, toward which all four boys turned uneasy glances, I held my audience.

The Black Spectre, with a black book under its arm, drew nearer.

Still I continued to play and nod my head and tap my toe.

I felt like some modern Pied Piper piping away the children of these modern hills--piping them away from older people who could not understand them.
I could see an accusing look on the Spectre's face.

I don't know what put it into my head, and I had no sooner said it than I was sorry for my levity, but the figure with the sad garments there in the matchless and triumphant spring day affected me with a curious, sharp impatience.