The little thing certainly wore a familiar air.

Master Courage of a truth had seen such an one before.
"That thing never grew up there, master," said Mistress Charity in an agitated whisper.
"No!" he rejoined emphatically, "nor yet doth a button form part of the habiliments of a ghost." But not a sound came from above: and though Courage and Charity peered upwards with ever-increasing anxiety, the fast gathering darkness effectually hid the mystery which lurked within that elm.
"I vow that there's something up there, mistress," said the youth with sudden determination.
"Could it be bats, master ?" she queried with a shudder.
"Nay! but bats do not wear buttons," he replied sententiously.

"Yet of a surety, I mean to make an investigation of the affair as that old fool Hymn-of-Praise would say." Whereupon, heedless of Mistress Charity's ever-growing agitation, he ran towards the boundary wall of the park, and vaulted the low gate with an agile jump even as she uttered a pathetic appeal to him not to leave her alone in the dark.
Fear had rooted the girl to the spot.

She dared not move away, fearful lest her running might entice that mysterious owner of the brown button to hurry in her track.

Yet she would have loved to follow Master Courage, and to put at least a gate and wall between herself and those terrible elms.
She was just contemplating a comprehensive and vigorous attack of hysterics when she heard Master Courage's voice from the other side of the gate.
"Hist! Hist, mistress! Quick!" She gathered up what shreds of valor she possessed and ran blindly in the direction whence came the welcome voice.
"I pray you take this," said the youth, who was holding a wooden bucket out over the gate, "whilst I climb back to you." "But what is it, master ?" she asked, as--obeying him mechanically--she took the bucket from him.