CHAPTER II.
The light still continued to shine from the gabled window. The ghost had not been exorcised as yet, for still the form flitted to and fro, and one man casually remarked “that as ghosts knew everything, it had no doubt been warned of the hostile approach of the Englishman and the brawny blacksmith, and had sent out an evil power to slay them,” and then he facetiously added, “that he wished he had taken his horses to be shod, as he minded to that day. Now the nearest smithy was ten good miles away. Jack would never show up to shoe any more horses.”
Another ear-splitting wail from a gray-haired woman, presumably Jack’s mother, and a chorus of voices crying, “for shame, Joe Bull, to joke over the poor lad. Go away wi’ you for an evil sperrit yoursen’,” caused the would-be joker to slink into the background covered with ignominy.
At last a sound as of returning footsteps down the steep cliff was heard, and a subdued murmur like the hum of bees began to drift through the crowd. Was it Jack and his companion returning? or could it be the evil spirits, who, having destroyed those two brave men, were now bent on wiping out from the land all those who had lent a helping hand toward exposing the ghost of “The Five Gables.”
“Let’s be movin’,” said one woman gathering up her brood in the ample folds of her gown, much as if they had been fagots of wood. “I never war for disturbin’ the poor spooks. Let em trouble them as has a evil conscience. Poor folks like we uns has no use for ghosts.” Her words electrified her hearers, and with one accord they turned to depart. Some with dignity as if the sound of ghosts’ footsteps were an every day occurrence with them; others looking back over their shoulders fearfully trying to penetrate the darkness, and the mystery of those fast advancing footsteps.
“Hoo, hoo,” sounded a voice which seemed to come from the earth underneath their very feet. “Hoo, hoo.”
A nervous negro woman with a cry of “Dey is arter we uns suah. I took dat par o’ stocks’ jes fer fun, good ghos’, I’ll gub em back to missy to-morrow, suah,”—was the cause of a general stampede, and men, women and children, made wild with fear by the woman’s loud yells, stumbled over each other in their frantic efforts to get to a place of safety, but the hurrying feet behind them were coming, were gaining on them, and some of the weaker ones realizing their inability to escape, sank upon their knees and gave themselves up to their dreadful fate with a wail of despair.
“What’s all this bloomin’ row about?” exclaimed a familiar voice much blown from hard running. “Any body’d think the very de’il himsel’ war after thee, folks.”
“Oh! is it thee, my gud mon?” cried the Englishman’s wife with a scream of joy. “We were daft wi’ fear. We thoc’ht the ghosts had swallied thee, an’ war coomin’ down tha brue for tha rest o’ we uns.”
A hearty laugh from the two “brave men” did much toward restoring the courage of the fleeing people, who now turned and crowded around the heroes, eager to hear of their adventures. Many men solemnly shook them by the hand, saying “glad to see thee back again,” as if they had just returned from a long and perilous journey, while the women more curious asked in awe-struck voices: “Wha’ did thee see, Jack? War it really the ghost o’ that yaller gal, Bill?”
“Naw,” sneered the Englishman with a wave of his hand. “We war weel laughed at for meddlin’ wi’ what war none o’ our business. Maister Willin hissen’ ha’ opened thot windie for ti’ luke at t’ comet i’ tha’ sky. He ha’ a telescope brocht fra foreign parts an’ it be woonderfu’. He let us luke at uns, ha Jock?”
“Yes,” said Jack, who seemed quite crestfallen and inclined to hide his head. “Yes, but I had rather found the ghost.”
“Tell us what you seen, Bill?” cried his hearers eagerly.
“Oh, it war’ woonderfu’, I tell thee, woonderfu’. Thee joost luke through a round hole made o’ glass, and thee seeist this thin’ awa’ oop i’ tha sky, like a fiery furnace. Beats thy forge all to nothin’, hey Jock?”
Jack made no answer. He was plainly disgusted with himself for having been made a fool of. The Englishman continued: “An’ wha’ do’est thee think, gude people. Maister Willin’ say’es as how that thin’ has a tail one hundred an’ feefty thousand miles long.”
Several laughed as Bill delivered this speech, and one man said: “I knowed Andrew Willing were daft. Only a man all wrong in the upper story would be sayin’ an’ doin’ such crazy things. The next thing you’ll be tellin’ us Bill, is that the doctor has gone mad, too.”
“It war he as ope’d the dure fer me an’ Jock,” replied Bill, “an’ he near cracked ‘is ’ead i’ two joost laughin’ at hour fuleishness. ‘Jock,’ ’e said, ‘I thought you ’ad more brains nor this. I woonder h’at you. Coom h’up steers, Maister Willin’ don’t make no secret o’ that gabled room. It are open ti respection’, or somethin’ like that ’e said, so we went h’in kind o’ fearfu’ like.”
“I was’ent fearful,” spoke up Jack quickly. “Speak for yourself, Bill.”
“Thee got as white h’as a sheet, mon,” returned Bill excitedly. “Thee was’t afeer’d ti luke aside. Thee nee’r expected ti come out’en theer alive, an’ wi’ a whole skin.”
“Go way with you for a bloody liar,” retorted Jack hotly. “I never was afraid of anything yet.”
“Haa liar his it!” cried Bill, squaring off. “Ca’ me haa liar, do’est thee? Hi’ll teach thee to hinsult thy betters.”
“Come, come; stop your quarreling,” said a man stepping between them. “Don’t you know that Jack could wipe up the earth with you, Bill, if he just wanted to? Why you would be a dead man in two seconds. See, daylight is breaking, and the most of us are chilled through. We’ll have snow before many hours. Let us all go to our homes, and to-night we will meet at the post office, and you can finish your tale.”
Jack had turned away in disdain as Bill squared at him. “Fight that thing,” he muttered, “well I recon as how I want a man to stand up against, not a puppy,” and looking defiantly at the crowd he walked toward his forge, while the others slowly dispersed to their separate homes.