The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1882-03-18

the lane, full-speed, and ran bump
against me so violently that he almost
knocked me down
Gently, my friend said 1; I'm
not made of IRON
"' BE thaat thee, paarson? answered
a shaky voice, which | recognized at
once rs that of Dick Grimes, the miller.
Stand by me if thee be Christian
mont
- What's the matter?' asked I, won
dering not a little what could have hap
pened to brighten great sturdy fellow
like him-for frightened he evidently
was-so badly that he could hardly
speak.
90 There be boggart (ghost) after
me, painted Grimes, rattlin' chain
and shroikin.' Try if thee can stop
him, for the love of heaven. l can
notp
"Sure enough, at that very moment
heard sound of pattering feet APP
preaching, mingled with the clanking
of chain; and through the darkness /
could just make out something white
coming swiftly toward us. Grimes,
who seemed too much scared even to
run away, got behind me as if had been
| 81 v dlls NHllc VIC RHOSJ CdliIC Oll
"And when the terrible hobgoblin
got right up to us, what do you think it
turned out to be? Why, neither more
nor less than the miller's own white
donkey, which, having been carelessly
tethered, had managed to break loose,
and was enjoying a moonlight run by
itself, dragging its chain along with it!
" took care to keep the secret, but
the story leaked out somehow, and you
may fancy what a hard time of it the
poor miller had in the village for good
while after, although many who laughed
at him would have been no Drawer them
selves in his place.
"Now it happened that the hardest
of all upon him was Sam Barton, the
butcher-a great, brawny fellow, with
large, red whiskers, and a hand like one
of his own shoulders of mutton--who
was fond of Boosting that he feared
nothing above ground or under it.
Zone night, when lot of them were
having sort of holiday-supper at the
little inn, yonder, Barton made fun of
the miller so numerically that at last
the poor fellow got quite angry
- All, any mon can talk big when
there be no danger! cried he; but if
thee d been i my place, the d ha' done
jist as l did!'
Would I, thought shouted the
butcher, fiercely. Thee nun get up
early to catch Sam Barton playin' Grad
dint Coward bent afeared o. nought
above ground, nor under it, neitherr
"'Well, then, said Grimes, looking
him full in the face, will thee 90
through the church-yard nowP
"'Ayc, that l will, cried the butcher,
jumping up at once; and We may a.
COON with me if We loike, and see that
do it fair!'
"'Well, bark We to me, lads put in
the landlord, Use tell we how we'll do
it. Sam shall TAX these three knives,
and stick one i the ground by the stile
where he II 90 into the choorch-yard, and
another by Squire Hawker's monument
i the middle, and the third at the gate
on t ootherside. Then Well 90 round
to the gate and meet him, and see that
as fair
1.-The plan was at once agreed to, and
off started the valiant butcher, whistling
defantly, and clinking the three long
knives in his brawny hand.
but as he began to leave the village
lights behind him, and to approach the
dark, dreary church-yard, his whistle
grew fainter and his step less brisk. 1t
was a chill, gloomy night, and the wind
moaned dismally through the leafless
trees while the distant roar of the tor
rent that ran through Dead Mans Gully
sounded unnaturally loud in the grim
silence.
Every ghost story he had ever
heard in his life seemed to crowd into
the unfortunate butchers memory at
once, and by the time he reached the
stile he would gladly have given all the
money in his pocket to be well out of
the whole business. But it would never
do to give in now, so over the stile he
scrambled, planted his first knife, and
went on.
1.-The church-yard was dark as pitch,
and he got more than one tumble over
the graves, which made his nerves none
the steadier.
"Just as he was Sticking the second
knife beside the Squire's monument
(Which doomed white and ghostly
through the darkness), the church-clock
struck twelve.
1.-The deep, hosow sound, amid that
dead silence, started him from walk
into run. On he went, scratching
himself against projecting boughs and
bruising his shins upon the tombstones,
till at last he came down on his hands
and knees, close to the white gate. Just
then an old owl overhead gave such a
scream that Sam, too scared even to
look round, stuck the third knife at
random behind him, and tried to rush
off. But 10! something seized and held
him fast, and poor Sam, frightened out