"'I placed that treasure there before my death,' added the spectre.
"'Ah, so! than you are dead?' said Sam.
"'One half of that money I wish you to give to the poor, and the other half you may keep to yourself, if you choose.'
"'Golley!' said Sam, 'you are not much of a swab after all, though you look as thin as a purser's clerk. Give us a shake of your paw, my hearty.'
"Here Sam, somehow or other, stumbled over the lamp, and when he got up again the spectre had vanished. He laid hold of the chest, however, and groped his way back to the mill. When safe inside, he made a stiff jorum of grog, and then fell comfortably asleep. That night he dreamt that he was eating gold and silver, that he was his own captain, that the cat-o'-nine tails was entirely abolished in the navy, and that his ship, instead of sailing in salt water was floating in rum. When he awoke, the sun was steaming through all the nooks and crannies of the old mill. All the marks of the preceding night's adventures were there—the gridiron, the empty rum jar, the the table o'erturned in the mélée with the ghost—but the chest of money was gone."
"And what did Sam conclude from that incident?" inquired Fritz.
"Well, he supposed that he had slept rather long, and that somebody had come in before he as up and had walked off with the box."
"If I had been in his place," continued Fritz, "I should have said to myself that the mind often gives birth to strange fancies, particularly after a heavy supper, and that I had muddled my brain with rum; consequently, that all the things I imagined I had seen were only the chimeras of a dream."
"But that could not be, Master Fritz, for two reasons; the first, that the mark of the ghost's hand remained on his arm."
"Very likely burnt it when he grilled the bacon."