"'But Fritz?' I said.
"'It was Fritz—Fritz was the sentry,' said the major, with a fresh burst of grief. The court-martial sits this morning, and my boy will be shot, unless interest can be made with the general to grant him a pardon.'
"I rose and drest myself immediately, but with little hope of success. Poor Fritz being the son of an officer, was against him rather than otherwise—it would have been considered an act of favouritism to spare him. He was shot; his poor mother died of a broken heart, and the major left the service immediately after the surrender of the city."
"And have you ever seen Mungo again?" said I.
"No," he replied; "but I have heard of others seeing him."
"And are you convinced that it was a spectre, and not a dog of flesh and blood?"
"I fancy I was then—but, of course, one can't believe—"
"Oh, no;" I rejoined; "Oh, no; never mind facts, if they don't fit into our theories."