The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1884-06-05
THE DOCS GHOST.
Hal Rowland,s STORY.


It's my turn, is it? Well, / don't
know what kind of a yarn to spin, as
my sailor uncle would say, unless you'd
like to hear about the phantom dog of
Rowland Farm. You would, hey?
Well, here goes.
Our family, you know, have owned
Rowland Farm more'n hundred
years., and part of it is just as when
they first owned it. The kitchen Is
And it S large enough for dozen New
York City kitchens-fiat kitchens, |
mean-with great big fireplace,
smoky old rafters, brick floor and enor-
nous closets. Our folks don't use it
'eept in summer, cause it's too cold
there at other times, and there isn't
any way to warm it unless we spent
fortune on fire-wood. They use the
new kitchen on the other side of the
house, which isn't as picturesque, but is
q good deal more comfortable.
And the rooms over the old kitchen
are just as they were first built, too,
with little high-up windows and low
ceilings. One of them is my den, and
the other is spare room for boys.
And there's long passageway lighted
by a skylight leading from these rooms
to the new part of the house. l chose
that room soon's / got old enough to
have room to myself, cause | could
stamp round and whistle and sing as
much as had mind to there without
somebody calling out every minute:
ooh, Hal! for mercy's sake do stop
that noisen' And wasn't bit afraid
to sleep there, though lots of cid people
down in the village said that in old
times the long passageway used to be
haunted from eleven till twelve o'clock
by a phantom dog. 1t seems one of nv
neutrality-suspicious. was a very
bad-tempered man, and very cruel to
animals, and one night poor, half
starved dog got into the house. and
whined and howled and made row
generally outside Of his bedroom door.
Well, my amiable g.-g.-g. got up,
dragged the Wretched beast downstairs,
through the kitchen, and out into the
back yard, and there he shot him. And
ever after that until my g.-g-g. died
so the story goes--the ghost of that dog
came every night, at the hour it had
been shot, aAd howled at my g.-g-g-'s
door. And that isn't all. Some Of the VIII
lage venerables declare that it has been
seen several times since my g. died.
never took much stock in the story
myself, cause | don't believe in such
things, neither does my mother; but, to
tell the up and down truth, did feel q
little queer on two or three very dark
nights when | was Weakened out of a
sound sleep by big strange bark.
Well, as was saying, the phantom-dog
story didn't scare me much, but one
night | pretended it did. Twas one
night in the last part of May, when my
second cousin, Hobe Horton, was visit
ing us.
Hobe had lived way off West ever
since he was baby, aud I'd never seen
him before this visit. He's slim chap,
with enormous gray eyes and curly light
hair, and he speaks soft Us a girl-softer
than lots of girls, cause there's no de-
nyfng most girls yell as though you
were deaf, unless they're whispering
secrets. | thought when they told me
he was coming that was go ng to see
regular out-and-out backwoodsman,
chock full of fun and stories bout bears
and buffaloes and Iniuns.
But Hobe said his mamma hadn't let
him hunt bears and buffaloes and In
juns much. And OH wasn't he good?
He was too good for anything. And
my mother and my grandmother and
my aunts--I've got five-kept a-saying:
Take pattern by your cousin, Hal.
He never talks slang, nor shins up a tree
and tears his trousers, nor blacks a
friends eye, nor puts mice in the com
pany's hat, nor spills 'lasses on the door
mat. And he always says yes, sir
and mo, SIR and ives, ma am and
no, ma am. instead of yep and
nope, and it's plain to be seen that he
would act like a perfect gentleman
under any circumstances. and never go
yelling round, as you do sometimes,
even ii the house were afire
Well, you know that sort of talk to a
fellow bout another fellow nearly sets
fellow wild, and got to almost hat
ing that Hobe, did, and made up nv
mind that 70 try to make him yell once,
and that without setting the house a
fire either. And SO one night l went to
Hobe's room-it was the room opposite
to mine-and | began talking about the
phantom dog.
And do you know any one that has
really seen ftp" said Hobe.
1.-TWO Of our servants who used to
sleep in this part of the house say they
saw something strange around here
once, and they were so frightened that
my mother had to give them room
near her, - said ].
Did you ever see it2'' said he.
"No," said /, 81 can't exactly say
that have, but I've heard queer howl
ing and barking several times in the
middle of the night that didn't belong
to this neighbor6ood.
Then said Goodnight, and went
to my own room. (Oh, / must tell you
that neither of our doors could be
locked, cause I'd lost both the keys. J
1t was near twelve o'clock, and l was
sure Hobe was q little scared, for, to
tell the up-and-down truth, / was my
self. Cause no matter how much you
don't believe in such things, if you talk
about them at night, with no light but
moonlight, and everything solemn still,
you get sort of chilly creep in spite OF
| Yourself. Especially down vour hack.