Charlie used to sit reading the blind people's Bible, beside a sheltering wall, at the Royal Academy in Edinburgh, Blind Tommy, with his little pitcher in his mouth, begging for pennies. I got to know them so well that, every time I passed, Charlie allowed the dog to put his pitcher down, while I fed him with a biscuit or bun. I made him a nice warm coat, too, for the cold days.
One day I missed them both, and I went at once to Charlie's lodgings. Here I found that on his way home one dark night, Charlie had been knocked down by a carriage, and had his leg broken. He had been carried home, and the neighbors had been very kind and had got him a doctor. "But, oh, ma'am," he said, "there's no nurse like Tommy! He sits close beside me, and seems to know everything I want. If I am thirsty, I say, 'Tommy, some water,' and off he goes with his little pitcher to the bucket, fills it, and carries it so carefully back to me."
THE GHOST IN THE GARDEN.
Harry Peters had to cross the common one evening in the dark, and, though his father had sent him to post a letter, he could not get on, for he saw a ghost, as he fancied, in the garden near the lane, and his hair stood almost on end. There it was, rising white and spectral before him with outstretched, slowly moving arms. Harry uttered a piercing shriek, for the boys at school had told him some dreadful ghost stories, and he quite expected to be carried off by those ghostly beckoning arms. His father was very vexed that he had lost the post, and would not believe he had seen a ghost.
"There are no such things," he said; "light the lantern and we'll drive your ghost away. Some silly boy has been frightening you."
Harry's big brother declared he would pay the boy out for shamming ghosthood, and so the three went together, followed by the dog, barking loudly.
And what do you think Harry's ghost turned out to be? The white shirt belonging to the cobbler, which his wife had hung up to dry in their back garden.