ghosts?"

"Be there ghosts?" said Sam, immediately translating into his vernacular grammar; "wal, now, that are 's jist the question, ye see."

"Well, grandma thinks there are, and Aunt Lois thinks it's all nonsense. Why, Aunt Lois don't even believe the stories in Cotton Mather's Magnolia."

"Wanter know?" said Sam, with a tone of slow, languid meditation.

We were sitting on a bank of the Charles River fishing. The soft melancholy red of evening was fading off in streaks on the glassy water, and the houses of Oldtown were beginning to loom through the gloom, solemn and ghostly. There are times and tones and moods of nature that make all the vulgar, daily real seem shadowy, vague, and supernatural, as if the outlines of this hard material present were fading into the invisible and unknown. So Oldtown with its elm-trees, its great square white houses, its meeting-house and tavern and blacksmith's shop and mill, which, at high noon, seem as real and as commonplace as possible, at this hour of the evening were dreamy and solemn. They rose up blurred, indistinct, dark; here and there winking candles sent long lines of light through the shadows, and little drops of unforeseen rain rippled the sheeny darkness of the water.

"Wal, you see, boys, in them things it's jist as well to mind yer granny. There's a consid'able sight o' gumption in grandmas. You look at the folks that's allus tellin' you what they don't believe, they don't believe this and they don't believe that, and what sort o' folks is they? Why, like yer Aunt Lois, sort o' stringy and dry. There ain't no 'sorption got out o' not believin' nothin'.

"Lord a massy, we don't know nothin' 'bout them things. We hain't ben there, and can't say that there ain't no ghosts and sich, can we now?"

We agreed to that fact, and sat a little closer to Sam in the gathering gloom. "Tell us about the Cap'n Brown house, Sam."

"Ye did n't never go over the Cap'n Brown house?"

No, we had not that advantage. "Wal, yer see, Cap'n Brown he made all his money to sea, in furrin parts, and then come here to Oldtown to settle down.

"Now, there ain't no knowin' 'bout these 'ere old ship-masters, where they 's ben or what they's ben a doin', or how they got their money. Ask me no questions and I'll tell ye no lies, is 'bout the best philosophy for them. Wal, it did n't do no good to ask Cap'n Brown questions too close, 'cause you did n't git no satisfaction. Nobody rightly knew 'bout who his folks was, or where they come from; and ef a body asked him, he used to say that the very fust he know'd 'bout himself he was a young man walkin' the streets in London.

"But, yer see, boys, he hed money, and that's about all folks wanter know when a man comes to settle down. And he bought that are place, and built that are house. He built it all sea-cap'n fashion, so 's to feel as much at home as he could. The parlor was like a ship's cabin. The table and chairs was fastened down to the floor, and the closets was made with holes to set the castors, and the decanters, and bottles in, jist's they be at sea; and there was stanchions to hold on by; and they say that blowy nights the Cap'n used to fire up pretty well with his grog, till he had about all he could carry, and then he'd set and hold on, and hear the wind blow, and kind o'

feel out to sea right there to hum. There was n't no Mis' Cap'n Brown, and there did n't seem likely to be none. And whether there ever had been one, nobody know'd. He had an old black Guinea nigger woman named Quassia, that did his work. She was shaped pretty much like one o' these 'ere great crookneck-squashes. She wa'n't no gret beauty, I can tell you, and she used to wear a gret red turban and a yaller short gown and red petticoat, and a gret string o' gold beads round her neck, and a gret big gold hoops in her ears, made right in the middle of Africa among the heathen there. For all she was black, she thought a heap o' herself, and was consid'able sort of predominative over the Cap'n. Lordy massy, boys, it's allus so. Get a man and a woman together, - any sort o' woman you 're a mind to, don't care who 't is, and one way or another she gets the rule over him, and he jist has to train to her fife. Some does it one way and some does it another; some does it by jawin', and some does it by kissin', and some does it by faculty and contrivance; but one way or another they allers does it. Old Cap'n Brown was a good stout stocky kind o' John Bull sort o' fellow, and a good judge o' sperits, and allers kep' the best in them are cubboards o' hisn; but, fust and last, things in his house went pretty much as old Quassia said. "Folks got to kind o' respectin' Quassia. She come to meetin' Sunday regular, and sot all fixed up in red and yaller and green, with glass beads and what not, lookin' for all the world like one o' them ugly Indian idols; but she was wal-behaved as any Christian. She was a master hand at cooking. Her bread and biscuits could n't be beat, and no could n't her pies, and there wa'n't no such pound-cake as she made nowhere. Wal, this 'ere story I'm a goin' to tell you was told me by Cinthy Pendleton. There ain't a more respectable gal, old or young, than Cinthy nowheres. She lives over to Sherburn now, and I hear tell she's sot up a manty-makin' bisness, but then she

She

used to do tailorin' in Oldtown. was a member o' the church, and a good Christian as ever was. Wal, ye see, Quassia she got Cinthy to come up and spend a week to the Cap'n Brown house, a doin' tailorin' and a fixin' over his close; 't was along toward the fust o' March. Cinthy she sot by the fire in the front parlor with her goose and her press-board and her work, for there wa'n't no company callin', and the snow was drifted four feet deep right across the front door; so there wa'n't much danger o' anybody comin' in, and the Cap'n he was a perlite man to wimmen, and Cinthy she liked it jist as well not to have company, 'cause the Cap'n he'd make himself entertainin' tellin' on her sea stories and all about his adventures among the Ammonites, and Perresites, and Jebusites, and all sorts o' heathen people he 'd been among.

"Wal, that are week there come on the master snow-storm. Of all the snow-storms that hed ben that are was the beater, and I tell you the wind blew as if 't was the last chance it was ever goin' to have. Wal, it's kind o' scary like to be shut up in a lone house with all natur' a kind o' breakin' out, and goin' on so, and the snow a comin' down so thick ye can't see 'cross the street, and the wind a pipin' and a squallin' and a rumblin' and a tumblin' fust down this chimney and then down that. I tell you, it sort o' sets a feller thinkin' o' the three great things,—death, judgment, and etarnaty; and I don't care who the folks is, nor how good they be, there's times when they must be feelin' putty consid'able solemn.

"Wal, Cinthy she said she kind o', felt so along, and she had a sort o' queer feelin' come over her as if there was somebody or somethin' round the house more 'n appeared. She said she sort o' felt it in the air, but it seemed to her silly, and she tried to get over it. But two or three times, she said, when it got to be dusk, she felt somebody go by her up the stairs. The front entry wa'n't very light in the daytime, and

in the storm, come five o'clock, it was so dark that all you could see was jist a gleam o' something, and two or three times when she started to go up stairs she see a soft white suthin' that seemed goin' up before her, and she stopped with her heart a beatin' like a trip-hammer, and she sort o' saw it go up and along the entry to the Cap'n's door, and then it seemed to go right through, 'cause the door did n't open.

"Wal, Cinthy says she to old Quassia, says she, 'Is there anybody lives in this house but us?'

"Anybody lives here?' says Quassia; what you mean?' says she.

6

66 Says Cinthy, 'I thought somebody went past me on the stairs last night and to-night.'

"Lordy massy, how old Quassia did screech and laugh. 'Good Lord!' says she, 'how foolish white folks is! Somebody went past you? Was 't the Captin ?

"No, it wa'n't the Cap'n,' says she; 'it was something soft and white, and moved very still; it was like somethin' in the air,' says she.

"Then Quassia she hawhawed louder. Says she, 'It's hiy-sterikes, Miss Cinthy; that's all it is.'

"Wal, Cinthy she was kind o' shamed, but for all that she could n't help herself. Sometimes evenings she'd be a settin' with the Cap'n, and she'd think she'd hear somebody a movin' in his room overhead; and she knowed it wa'n't Quassia, 'cause Quassia was ironin' in the kitchen. She took pains once or twice to find out that are.

"Wal, ye see the Cap'n's room was the gret front upper chamber over the parlor, and then right opposite to it was the gret spare chamber where Cinthy slept. It was jist as grand as could be, with a gret four-post mahogany bedstead and damask curtains brought over from England; but it was cold enough to freeze a white bear solid, the way spare chambers allers is. Then there was the entry between run straight through the house; one side was old Quassia's room, and the other was a sort o' store-room,

where the old Cap'n kep' all sorts o' traps.

"Wal, Cinthy she kep' a hevin' things happen and a seein' things, till she did n't railly know what was in it. Once when she come into the parlor jist at sundown she was sure she see a white figure a vanishing out o' the door that went towards the side entry. She said it was so dusk that all she could see was jist this white figure, and it jist went out still as a cat as she come in.

"Wal, Cinthy did n't like to speak to the Cap'n about it. She was a close woman, putty prudent, Cinthy was.

"But one night 'bout the middle o' the week this 'ere thing kind o' come to a crisis.

"Cinthy said she'd ben up putty late a sewin' and a finishin' off down in the parlor, and the Cap'n he sot up with her and was consid'able cheerful and entertainin', tellin' her all about things over in the Bermudys, and off to Chiny and Japan, and round the world ginerally. The storm that had ben a blowin' all the week was about as furious as ever, and the Cap'n he stirred up a mess o' flip and hed it for her hot to go to bed on. He was a good-natured crittur, and allers had feelin's for lone women, and I s'pose he knew 't was sort o' desolate for Cinthy.

"Wal, takin' the flip so right the last thing afore goin' to bed, she went right off to sleep as sound as a nut, and slep' on till somewhere about mornin', when she said somethin' waked her broad awake in a minute. Her eyes flew wide open like a spring, and the storm had gone down and the moon come out, and there, standin' right in the moonlight by her bed, was a woman jist as white as a sheet, with black hair hangin' down to her waist, and the brightest, mournfullest black eyes you ever see. She stood there lookin' right at Cinthy, and Cinthy thinks that was what waked her up; 'cause, you know, ef anybody stands and looks steady at folks asleep it's apt to wake 'em.

"Any way, Cinthy said she felt jist as ef she was turnin' to stone. She

could n't move nor speak. She lay a minute, and then she shut her eyes and begun to say her prayers; and a minute after she opened 'em and it was gone.

"Cinthy was a sensible gal, and one that allers hed her thoughts about her, and she jist got up and put a shawl round her shoulders and went first and looked at the doors, and they was both on 'em locked jist as she left 'em when she went to bed. Then she looked under the bed and in the closet, and felt all round the room; where she could n't see she felt her way, and there wa'n't nothin' there.

"Wal, next mornin' Cinthy got up and went home, and she kep' it to herself a good while. Finally, one day when she was workin' to our house she told Hepsy about it, and Hepsy she told me."

"Well, Sam," we said, after a pause, in which we heard only the rustle of leaves and the ticking of branches against each other, "what do you suppose it was?”

Wal, there 'tis; you know jist as much about it as I do. Hepsy told Cinthy it might 'a' ben a dream; so it might, but Cinthy she was sure it wa'n't a dream, 'cause she remembers plain hearin' the old clock on the stairs strike four while she had her eyes open lookin' at the woman; and then she only shet 'em a minute, jist to say 'Now I lay me,' and opened 'em and she was gone.

"Wal, Cinthy told Hepsy, and Hepsy she kep' it putty close. She did n't tell it to nobody except Aunt Sally Dickerson and the Widder Bije Smith and your grandma Badger and the minister's wife, and they every one o' 'em 'greed it ought to be kep' close, 'cause it would make talk. Wal, come spring somehow or other it seemed to 'a' got all over Oldtown. I heard on 't to the store and up to the tavern, and Jake Marshall he says to me one day, 'What's this 'ere about the Cap'n's house?' And the Widder Loker she says to me, 'There's ben a ghost seen in the Cap'n's house'; and I heard NO. 158.

VOL. XXVI.

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on 't clear over to Needham and Sherburn.

"Some o' the women they drew themselves up putty stiff and proper. Your Aunt Lois was one on 'em.

666

Ghost,' says she; 'don't tell me! Perhaps it would be best ef 't was a ghost,' says she. She did n't think there ought to be no sich doin's in nobody's house; and your grandma she shet her up, and told her she did n't oughter talk so."

"Talk how!" said I, interrupting Sam, with wonder. "What did Aunt Lois mean?"

"Why, you see," said Sam, mysteriously, "there allers is folks in every town that's jist like the Sadducees in old times; they won't believe in angel nor sperit, no way you can fix it; and ef things is seen and done in a house, why, they say it's 'cause there's somebody there; there's some sort o' deviltry or trick about it.

"So the story got round that there was a woman kep' private in Cap'n Brown's house, and that he brought her from furrin parts; and it growed and growed, till there was all sorts o' ways o' tellin' on 't.

"Some said they'd seen her a settin' at an open winder. Some said that moonlight nights they'd seen her a walkin' out in the back garden kind o' in and out 'mong the bean-poles and squash-vines.

"You see it come on spring and sum.ner, and the winders o' the Cap'n Brown house stood open, and folks was all a watchin' on 'em day and night. Aunt Sally Dickerson told the minister's wife that she'd seen in plain daylight a woman a settin' at the chamber winder atween four and five o'clock in the mornin', -jist a settin' a lookin' out and a doin' nothin', like anybody else. She was very white and pale, and had black eyes.

"Some said that it was a nun the Cap'n had brought away from a Roman Catholic convent in Spain, and some said he'd got her out o' the Inquisition.

"Aunt Sally said she thought the