L. Frank Baum

“ In another quarter of an hour back came Uncle John, shivering with the chill of the corridor, and stood warming himself before the grate fire.
“If the major heard the baby,” he said reflectively, “it must be proof that—that something—has happened to the little dear, and—and we must face the worst.”
“Well, it was baby I heard,” asserted the major, who, having hastily donned his clothes, now made his reappearance in the library. “I was lying in a sort of dose when the cry first reached my ears. Then I sat up and listened, and heard it again distinctly, as if little Jane were only two feet away. ”

“ And this ghost— Oh, Patsy, darling, I can’t say it!—it’s too horrible.”
Again a fit of shuddering seized him and he covered his eyes anew and rocked his body back and forth while he maintained his seat upon the floor. His legs were spread wide apart and he wiggled his big toes convulsively.
Beth asked with bated breath:
“Did you hear the ghost, then, Major?”
“Um! I heard it,” he moaned. “And it’s the end of all—the destroyer of our hopes—the harbinger of despair!”
“Look here, Major,” said Uncle John desperately, “be a man, and tell us what you mean.”
“It—it was baby—baby Jane!” ”

“ He was so earnest that the doctor glanced at him thoughtfully over the top of his book.
“It’s the dead of night, and you’re agitated and unreasonable, Hahn. In the morning you’ll be ashamed of your credulity.” ”