Evening star., 1895-10-19


heartless queen. Also. it was tacitly under
stood that he was Jehu's favorite dog, and
that the monarch often went hunting with
him.
NAL. rainy days when We couldn't go out,
were despised and thrown out as light
coin. story told in bed was equal to
three told in the sitting room after supper.
A ghost story counted three of any other
kind at any time and in any place. War
stories were gold-"Injun fights far out
rating Roman or Grecian gore. Robbers
were held in high esteem. Stories about
Christian martyrs were in steady demand
and the supply was colored to suit the mar
ket until our mother observed that there
was a shade of disappointment when
martyr got away, and bright-eyed joy
when black-maned Numidian lion, that
had been on health-food diet for six
weeks, and was tnin as a shad-yea, as
two shads-got into the arena before the
guards could get out. and Jared sumptuous-
Spartan gladiator and Christian patriarch.
Ghost Story In Bed.
Daniel Boone and Simon Kenton were
better than wheat. and we remembered
the Alamo" at least once a month. But the
and radiant that it had no fixed value and
was only brought out to break a strike or
bribe my brethren to some ir',some task
OF unusually slavish toil-was ghost story
in bed. 1t alway began in the dark, and
ratified and sighed and moaned. with clank-
ing chains and long dark halls and fitting
figures, sweeping white robes and spooky
ruStlingS and Splotches of blood, until some
terrified auditor ''bantered" another to get
up with him and light the lamp. Because
of the waSteful burning of lamp at full
head all night on several occasions our
mother ordered that after date all ghost
stories should be told in the afternoon,
down stairs. But that was found to be
wrstched failure. A ghost story in the
daytime was tame and emotionless as
fireworks in the sunlight. 1t was derided
and laughed out of court: whereas that
same melancholy failure told in bed, by
the hickering freight or in the dark. lifted
your hair like so many icicles, and with
chilly, creeping crinkles. curdled the scalps
of four boys huddled in one bed and as
many listening through the open doors of
their own rooms And sometimes, when
the white fingers Of the moonlight traced
tremulous silhouettes with the CHASTITY and
evasive shadows on the wall, and the limbs
Of the cherry tree ratified and scraped
against the window, 1t scared even the
story tellers. One starlight night, just as
the ghost came in, the dog howled right
under the window, long drawn, wailng,
despairing, bottomiesspit kind of howl.
Eight heads went under the blankets with
eight answering shrieks: and when we
came out again the program was changed,
and we had had the story of little Samuel,
Moses In the ark of bulruSheS, Abraham
d
cinct and detailed account of boy of my
own age, not bit better than myself, who
once heard dog howl in just such way
and went out to see what the matter was
and found a pot of gold That reassured
the audience, and we all said we knew
what was the matter with "Hec." The
night was cold, and he wanted to get into
the house. So what was the use of going
the rest of the ghost story. Somehow
when you got really badly scared ghost
story seemed kind of wicked.
One thing was absolutely essential to the
acceptance of ghost story. 1t had to be
a mystery utterly inexplicable save on the
ground that there really apd truly are
ShoSts-despafring, unhappy specters, that
came out of their lonely graves to haunt"
could not speak until they were spoken to,
and fled away to wherever they lived-or
rather where they didn't live-when the
roosters crowed. A ghost story that could
be explained was never called for second
time.
Located in the Cellar.
If the ghost was a lady, We treated her
as such. She was buried in an old brier-
tangled but quite respectable burying
ground, usually a church yard. with
screech owl attachment. A man ghost,
however, we felt free to take liberties
with. 1t was great business to wall him
up alive in vault behind the cellar wall.
sort. Right behind the apple racks was a
&C cd place. because then when we went
down for apples winter nights we could
blow out the candle and hear him coming
out The next scene. about three-tenths of
second later, disclosed the whole crowd
bursting with bulging eyes into the kitch-
en-, one of us carrying a broken candle
that left a trail of tallow drops from the
middle of the cellar to the kitchen, and
the last child in the rush crying. And we
all felt and looked foolish when we storm I'd
into the brightly lighted kitchen, and
mother with the smile that was always on
her face and meant so many things.
wanted to know what was the matter?''
We could only say that we heard some
thing" And she would say that I'VE
couldn't hear anything else" Sometimes
we buried man who had been foully MUIR
dered. down at the bottom of the garden
behind the currant bushes. Then, summer
evenings when we played "hi-spy" (since
corrupted into "hide-and-seek'D we could
see him fit silently past in the starlight,
waving his bloody hands above his head.
And the terrified spectator would inform
the rest of US tina he saw something.
This was blood-curdling.
After one or two attempts to make it go.
We never had the man shot. I don't know
why it is, but man who is shot never
makes successful ghost For that reason
very few authentic ghosts have their birth
days since the invention of gunpowder.
The ghost is born, you know, the day the
man dies. The flash of a gun, the bang,
the smell of the powder and the smoke are
not good spookly properties. My son tells
me there is a ghost in old Fort George, on
Lake Champlain, who beats a snare drum,
but it would not do to establish this as a
custom. Once in a while man writes a
story about phantom railway train. 1t
doesn't go. phantom ship is all right;
there are such things-everybody knows
that; have seen them myself. A phan-
tom stage coach is not at all unlikely; and
there are well-knovn specter horsemen.
But a phantom railway train-a kissing,
snorting. putting, noisy, roaring dusty, Gin
derous ghost-bosh! I believe in ghosts; 1
have a wide acquaintance with specters,
and 1 know that railroad train has no
ghost.
The Blood Spot Remained.
OF course, all rules have exceptions I
remember one gunpowder ghost which
haunted" when I was boy. He used to
be a man who scattered his skull clear
into the middle of next week while blow
ing down his shotgun, and afterward went
prowling around, moonlight nights, looking
for his head. But the correct thing in
manufacturing a ghost was to cut his
throat all the way round. A splash of in
delibe gore went with that kind of ghost.
Never could be scrubbed out. you know.
Tie harder you scrubbed it. the brighter