THE BOY'S GHOST.

Auckland Star, Volume XXII, Issue 305, 24 December 1891, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE BOY'S GHOST.

(By Mary A. Sawyer.)

• A ghost ! Whew ! That's likely 1' •So I say.' • Who's eeen it ?' ' Farmer Cooper's Jake, for one.' 1 Jake ! Scared him mosb out of his wits> I reckon 1' • He says so !' ' Does! Hi, that's a good one, Sam 1 Ha, ha! Ben White just wishes he'd been fcbero to see him run !' • Hβ didn't run, Ben. , 1 Didn't run V ' He &ays he fell flab upon his face, not daring to move,' continued Sftm Kuggles. ' Humph !' •And that he lay on the ground until he was nearly etiffwibh cold.' -' And then what did he do ?' sceptically. ' Wot up and went home, I suppose. I didn't ask him. I was thinking, Ben, that you and I might trap this ghost.' • How V eagerly. ' I'm your man for ghosts, old bey.' Sam looked first over one shoulder, then over the other, before he replied. ' I don't want anyone to hear us,' he explained, as be proceeded bo divulge the scheme he had matured. ' How is that ?' he added. • Capital! It'll trap him sure !' 'To-night, then,'said Sam. «At the bars, ab 10. I'll be there. What time does he walk ?' 1 him just before daylight.' • AH right. Poor old fellow, , laughing joyfully ; ' he's taken his last walk !' •As a, ghoab,' added Sam. '"Aa a ghost ?" We'll be on time ; and, I say, etuff your pockets, Sam! She'll be precious hungry before daylight does appear !' .. ' A.II righb. I'll remember.' Early hours prevailed in the village of Buokton. By 9 o'clock there were few lights to be seen in the scattered houses ; by .10 there were none. The nighb was clear and frosty and a keen wind blow from the north aa Sam, hia stockings and boots tucked under his arms, crepb down the dark stairs and out the kitchen door. He drew a long breath as he softly cloaed it and sab down upon the broad stone step and drew on his boots and stockings. ' li's piping cold !' be muttered, Rooking up at the stars, ' and if that ghost's got common sense he won'b walk much toni^lit, , Ben White, leaning over the bars of his father's cornfield awaiting Sam, and impat/iontly sbatnping his feeb upon the cold, frozen snow, held the same views. ' Hillo !' ha called, in a shrill, far-reach-ing whisper, as he saw Sam approaching, • thp.t you, Sam ? Stinger of a night, isn't it? Wo'll trap no ghosts to-night, old boy!' • Maybe not,' said Sam, ' but he may be all the bolder for it.' 'True enough, old boy.' Almost in silence the two lads sped over th& deserted highway! Until , they , reaeffed a' spob known as The Forks, where three roade met. Pausing here, they held a hns'y consultation. ' if we go together,' said Sam, 'he'll may be see us, but it you can manage to get round by the back ■■of the "church, stealing along by the fenced'l'lP'take the hill.' •All right. I'll risk his seeing me. But the hill's a glare of ice, Sam.' ' So much the bebterfor us. Now, then, if you're ready, we'll start.' Turning aside from ,bhe main road, the boys separated ab the foot of a long, straight hill, on the summit of which stood the square, sleep-roofed meetinghoVlSe.r.t-. " ■'. / ■■•'-■ ■'■.■•■■ - V '"It's a glare !' said Ben, ' how are you gcying up 'choub his seeing or hearing you V ' On my hands and kneea. Ho'll take me for a dog if he's on tho lookout.' ' Suppose he fires ?' ' fie..won't risk it,'confidently. 'Go ahead, Ben ; I'll meeb you in ten minutes. . It wa3 no easy task to crawl up tho long, icy hill, as Sam pooh found, bub he was a lad of'resolute will, and, though' t 'tie slipped back a score of times, he'- somehow mnnaged to reach the summit at the same moment that Ben, holding on to the rails of the .'rough'fenco thab church, appeared in sight. Bon gave a low and quickly-suppressed laugh, .'as; panting the church stops. ' I don't know what sort of an animal yon looked like,' he said. '1 know how my bands and knees feel,' rejoined Sam. 'There isn't a square inch of skin on them. , 'Iliad a toueh-and-you-go tumble myeolf,' laughed Ben. 'Hush! he'll hear us !' ' Our ghost !' tragically. ' But I say, Sam we'll soon freeze out here !' 'I've changed my plan,' said Sam. •We'll go inside ; let him go onb for a stroll if he wants to, and bhen nab .him when he returns.' ' That's better,' approvingly. ' Yes, ib'a too cold bo waife outside. Now then, Ben, he hasn't locked this door, so if you've gob your breath, we'll slip in.. •riofbly ! I'll hold the door bill you're in.' ■,' Done !' in a hoar?e whisper. ' Done !' echoed Sam, closing the heavy door oautiously. • ' Whab next? , asked Ben. ' An hour's waiting, and- maybe three or four.' 'WLiow! S'posehe'sin the lofb? I'm goinu; up, Sftfn V ' ' Off with your boobs then !' The boys stood in a small square entry, from which a fiighb of steep, winding stairs led to a gallery, or lofb, as it waa mosb frequently named, which held a number of squiiro, boxed - in pews, which were, however, seldom ■ used by tiie congregation. .Up these stairs Ben, diveaterl of his heavy cowhide boobs, now softly crepb. 'If I a tie or hear anybody or anything, man or fj!iio?b, I'll coffte down qniok, , lie said, in a whisper, 'and mind you shout if ho springs oni.on you;' " The'tnoments. seemed hours to the waiting eon try. Me held fche latch of the door that opened into tho meeting-house and pre«yed his weight against it, and listened if tuiything was stirring within. He felt him.'"t>lf shivering and his face and hands tingled with tho oold. Sbili ho stood, erect and motionless, by tho closed door. Ab last he heard Ben's voice calling to him in a whisper ko hoarse and excited thab ib senb tho blood suddenly leaping , through his vein , ). * " . 'Corn e l!' he called, 'don'b waste a second!' ' What-'* up ? : "roping hist way to the stairs. ' Wait a second till I geb off my, boo!. J.' 1 Kaon 'em on, and fetch mine along,' directed Ben, ' bub mind you step light.' 'What's up?' ''!'&?■ ffhosi I'sepulchrally. Sam bounded up the steps as rapidly as heavy boots and darkness"would permit. 0 rthero'i' as he reached tho top, ' Where?' ' Sh ! Sh ! He's in there—asleep—on one of the pews ! Easy, Sara 1 He'll wake up it we're not careful. Here, sib down j here, trive me your band—no, we'll go inside where it's warm.' •Warm!'questioned Sam. ' Whab makes it warm ?' 1 The ghost lias made a. fire !' was the astonishing reply. j ' Whew ! Rabher a cool sort of a chap, isn b he? , ' Rather, I zuq ss !' I How did v~cu find him ?' 'Heard his loud breathing as quick as I g-ili up here, and. so, knowing be must b-y aaleop, I stepped inside, tip-toed round till!

I found him, and them came back for you, old fellow. And now what will we do with him ?' Sam was silent for a few minutes, then he said, 'I reckon we'd better do as we planned. He'll wake up pretty soon, it's likely, and go out for hie prowl, and we'll nab him when he comes back.' ' All right,' said Ben. ' Now, then, we'll So in and have a bite of gingerbread, for I'm hunery.' *We must hide somewhere. He may have a lantern.' ' There are some boxes at the other end. If we don't tip 'em over we can hide behind them.' 'Wβ should tip 'em over. No, we'll geo into the first pew we come to and crawl under the seat. He won'b look there if we're quiet.' ' All right. But I say, Sam, we ought to have brought a lantern. , ' I have three candles in my pocket. We can light them while he's out. , ' And see what sort of a fellow a ghost really is!' laughed Ben. ' Sh ! Sh !' ' He won't hear ! - He's blowing too loud a trumpet! Still, I will not speak again.' Moving slowly and cautiously, the boys entered the loft and groped their way to a pew ; then, etowing themselves side by side under the high seat, they lay there munch' ing gingerbread, and awaiting the movements of the unseen sleeper. ■ He slept long and heavily, bub at last Sam's vigilance was rewarded. He heard just a restless movement, then a groan, and then an exclamation. Listening still more attentively, he discovered that this unknown inmate of the meeting-house had arisen and was striking a match. In his excitement he punched Ben, receiving a vigorous thrust in return. Both boys were brave and adventurous, yet both hearts beat faster as the possibility of discovery immediately confronted them. Presently a feeble light shone, and the boys heard the click of a lantern-slide. 'Now we're caught !' thought) Ben. ' He'll see us, sure as daylight !' thought Sam. Moving neither hand nor foot, scarcely daring to breathe, yet staring through the gloom with wide-open eyes.bhe boys waited the next movement of their adversary. Presently a slow, shuffling step was heard; it drew nearer, nearer ; and, looking neither to the right nor left, they saw the figure of an old and bent man, He passed th.em with a feeble, uncertain eait, opened the door, and went down the stairs. 'Did you see him? , whispered Ben. ' Let's follow him.' 'Sh ! He'll hear us.! Listen, Ben, and see if he goes out doors. , • He's a great ghost,' muttered Ben. c He's a hundred y9ars old. A greab ghost. I wonder who he is, Sam V

"Slip over to the window, Ben 1" '

•Listen, listen. Wasn't thafe the door? Slip over to the window, Ben, and see if you can see him.' • Yes,' reported Ben, after a few moments, ' he's creeping along the fence. Precious slippery he'll find it. Where can he heroine this time o , night ? After henroosts, I'll warrant.' Sam, meanwhile, was lighting one of his candles. ' Come,' he said, shielding it with one hand, ' we'll look round a bit and see whab that man is hiding here for. Maybe he's a burglar. Perhaps he has keys and. files and things here. Maybe gone out to prowl round and-see which house he'll break into, or what barn he'll fire.' ' Ben shook his head. 4 1 guess you're on the wrong scent, Sam. You couldn't have seen the man's face as plainly as I saw it. He's too old. He's a hundred, Sam, if he's a day. Ha ain'fc spry enough to be creeping in windows. He'd get caught too 1 ' Well,' after a moment's reflection, ' he's hidinghero, Ben.' • Plain as the nose on my face. • So my idea is to hunb around a bit, and then go down and wait by the door till he returns.' ' And then nab him ?' I •If he comes alone. We'll stand behind the .abor till he gets inside, slip softly along, and lock it—you can take the key, Ben—and then grab him, both at once, and ask him what he's here for.' • Agreed. Bubl say. are we going to stay here till daylight and" hold him 1 We'll be jusb about frozen, I reckon.' 'I brought a coil of rope,' said Sam. 'We can tie h\a hands and feet while we go for. your folks or mine. ,, 'That's right. That's first-rate.' A search of five or ten minutes revealed neither buiglara' tools, clothing nor food. In a pew nearest tbe stovepipe there wa3 a heap of cushions, faded and long sinco discarded, which had evidently served as a bed, but there was no other trace of the man who had selected this lonely and retired meeting-house as his hiding place. • It beats me ! I give it up ! exclaimed Ben. •Who can he be?'replied Sam, knitting his forehead in perplexity. ' I'd like to know what he finds to eat,' said Ben. 'I'd be precious hungry if i had Ito stay here all day. , ! ' Well, we shall find out, perhaps, when Iwe get; him. We had better go down now, Bea! Hβ may come back right away.' Bub the boys had time to grow cold and restles3 and impatient as the moments lengthened into hours. ' Maybe he has gone for good," suggested Ben, at length. 'Let's go home.' 'No,' said Sam, 'we must wait until daylight; it was just before daylight when Jako saw him. We must wait, Ben.' ' All right, if we don't freeze stiff.' 'Sh ! Sh ! I hear footsteps ! He is coming ! Listen, Ben.' in a whisper, • we'll let him get in and light his lantern ; then you lock the door. I'll have my rope handy, and when he starts to go upstairs we'll spring upon him.' 'AH right. Hold on like tun." Don't let him have his hands free. Catch his arms and grip him tight.' With* the last word the door was flung open, some one staggered in, cast something upon the floor, stepped,back, sighing wearily, and closed the door. Another long, deep sigh, and then the boys heard him strike a match. By its dim light Ben slipped along, locked the door softly and put the key in his pocket. Softly as he turned the key, the newcomer heard the faint click, and, lantern in hand, turned around. With alow cry, he stood erect, as the boys sprang forward and grasped hia arms. ' Leb me alone ! Leb me alone ! I hain't doin' nobody no harm. Let me alone !' he ' cried,

Ben held him firmly with one hand, while with the obher he wrested the lantern from his weak, trembling fingers, and put it upon the staire, while Sam, who for the first time saw him clearly, felb a throb of pity for him and loosened his grasp. • Let me go ! Let me go !' continued the captive. ' Jesb leb me go 1' Sam looked ab the tall, benb figure, the thin, haggard face, the appealing eyes, in which there was, he fancied, the unspoken dread of the hunted animal brought to bay. •Who are you?' he asked gently, 'and what are you doing here ?' ' Speak up !' said Ben. ' What are you hiding here for ? Speak up !' There was no answer. Instead, there came into bhe man's face a look of resolute debermination. Sam saw ib, and waited. Bub Ben, who was becoming impabienb, said 6harply: 1 Speak up, I say!' Still there was no answer. The boys exchanged glances. It was a sbrange position in which they found .themselves. They had come hither expecting to 6nd, if they found anyone, someone who was as strong and active as themselves, who would make a hard and desperate resistance. Instead, an old and feeble man was their captive. What should they do ? their eyes asked. Suddenly the man gasped for breath and closed hia eyea. 'Help him to sib down on the etairs,' directed Sam. ' He's tired, I reckon.' • Hungry, too,' added Ben, as he half led, half dragged him to the stairs. He gasped" again, and leaned wearily against the wall. ' Come,' whispered Ben. 'he's no ghost! We may as well go home, if he won't open his mouth. Leb him stay here if he likes. Who cares? He'll starve himself into a ghosb unless he steals his food when he's out.' ' I hain't no thief!' cried the man excitedly, • I hain't took a thing 'cept that lantern an' them matches, an' i were goin , to leave the pay for 'em. I hain'b book a thing! I hain't stole no food! I hain't had no food for nigh a week !' ' Whab made you go out, if you didn't go for food ?'exclaimed Ben. The man pointed to the armful of broken twigs and dead bougliß he had thrown upon tho floor. Then he closed his eyes again, leaning back in his former position. ' We would like to know who you are, and why you are bere,"said Sam. ' You ain't got no righb to stay here, you know,' said Ben, ' and when folks know you're here they'll drive you out.' ' Haven't you any home, any folks of your own V asked Sam. Still there was no answer. Hβ repeated his question, after a short silence, and Ben added, 'If you've gob a home, old man, I'd advise you to clear out as quick as you can, for the deacons and parson won'b leb no tramps stay here. 'I hain'b no tramp.' 1 Well, who are you any way V said Ben. •Don't tease him,' said Sam. 'He looks sick, and I'm going home to bring father over here.' Ab these words the man started. ' Don't fetch no one !' excitedly. ' Jest let me go ! iesb lob me go ! I'll—l'll gib away quick's I can.' ' Leb him go, , said Ben. ' I don'b beiieve he has any home, and he looks sick, and he'll die of starvation if we leave him here, or if bo goes tramping off eotnewheres. .

•Let me go ! let me go,' said the captive, faintly struggling to free his arms. • No,' said Sam, 'we shall nob leave you here alone to die of cold and hunger. If you will nob tell us who you are and why you'are here, I shall bring my father. Hβ is a doctor. He will know if you are sick, and he will geb you home, somehow.' 'Home !' with a bibber, despairing wail ; ' I hain'b gob no home !'

The boys looked helplessly ab each obher, and for a few momenbs neither of them spoke. ' Haven't you got no folks? , asked Ben, at lengbh. The man opened his- eyes and sat up more erectly and looked ab Ben and Sam abbentively. 'Boys,' he said, ' I'll trusb ye. I don'b think yell try fo gib me burned out of here if I tell ye why I'm here, an' I'll trust ye.'

'Here,' interrupted Ben, whose sympathies were now fully aroused, ' cab thab first,' handing him a broken piece of gingerbread; 'and we'll pitch the feller down that hill that tisies to turn you out. You can stay hero juet as long as you want to, can't he, Sam ?'

'Yes,' heartily,.'but he'll be, cold and hungry, and he'll get aick.» 'To be sure. And 'twill bo Sunday, too. day after to-morrow. "' Well,' in a whisper, ' we can coax him to sco your father.' ' Boys,'. continued their prisoner, ' I'll trusb ye. Boys, I'm here because I hain't gob no home. I had one, I had a wife, but she died,' in a quivering voice. Sam felb the arm which he still held tremble, and he said quickly : ' Do nob bell us if ib makes you feel bad.'

'I'll trust ye. *Ye'vo gob houesb faces, an' I'll trust yo. Boys, she died while I were in prison. sfes,' as both boys started back. ' I were let out last Monday morning, bub,' excitedly, ' I hadn't; ought bo ha' been senb there. They said I seb.fire to my barn and neighbour Jones' house, an' they sent me to prison, an— g reat tears rglling down his checks—'the parting an M the shame on'b killed my wife, an' I never can see iier, I never can see her no more !| sobbing and panbing. , '.How did you get out V asked Ben, in a husky voice.

'The man thab did'ib—bhe man I allus suspected—died a spell ago, an' he said he did it, an , they loc me out. They give me these clobhes and a little money to keep me a spell till I could gib work. .'Bub i found my Nancy dead an' gone, an' my home broke up, an' I couldn't stay there, bo I come here.

' I used to live here when I were a Mbble chap, , an' I thought I'd come here an' die. I'm dying, I be, an' 'bvvas bibber'cold, so I jest turned in here. I thoughb as no one would find me oub—l've fetched in them twigs an' kop' a fire ab night—an' I'd atop a spell, an, maybe I'd die 'fore long. 'You mustn't die!' said Sam. 'You must let my father give you something. He won'b tell, he can keep a secret. You'll let me tell him, won'b you V After much parsuasion, the man reluctantly consented, and the boys assisted him to the rough bod ho bad constructed and then they mado up a brisk tiro before they left him. '

'Wβ shall not leave him here, , said Sam, 'so ibs no matter if the smoke is seen. Lock bhe door, Ben, and take bhe

key. He'll stay there fast) enough, poor old man ; but some one might go in aud sbarble him. ' ,: 'Sam,' said Ben, as they slid down the icy hill, ' do you believe our ghost's story !' • Yes,' emphatically. •Sodo I ! But, I say, what a duffer Jake must be ! He's a great ghosb, thab feeble old man ! A greab ghost! I say, Sam, what's going bo be done with him '(' ' Father will know,' said Sam. ' He'll take him home most likely, and doctor him, and then, next spring, help him to get work.' ♦If he's sick I'll help take care of him, said Ben. • For,' with a laugh, ' I don't intend to wabeh all nighfc for a ghosb, and then lose him !' The kindly doctor investigated the ghost's story and found ib true. ' What shall we do with him ?' he asked the boys. ' He is a sick man.' ' Bring him home,' said Sam, -promptly. • Ben and I will nurse him till be get* well, and then we'll find work for him. We found him. We'll'make "out, somehow, bo help him.' • Thab's so !' said Ben. • He's our ghosb, you know.' added Sam.' 'Thab's so!' said Ben. 'Our poor old ghost!'