“You boys otter be ashamed of yourselves,” he says in a severe voice.
“Louder, louder,” I calls to Robert J., in answering which he began the most awful contortions.
“You can hear me perfectly plain,” says the dominie, now kind of sad-like. “It fills my old heart with sorrow to see that yous all have gone so far astray.”
Hearing that, so calm, so distinct, so defiant, made Robert J. stop short and stare. To remind him I gave the weight an extra thump, and it was so loud as to bring forth Mrs. Spiegelnail, her head showing plain as she peered out over the preacher's shoulder. The poor discouraged ghost took heart, striking his tragicest attitude, one which he told me afterwards was his pride and had been got out of a book. But what was the result?
“Does you hear anyone in the bushes, dear?” inquires Mr. Spiegelnail, cocking his ears and listening.
“It must be Ossy Dinkle and them bad friends of his,” says she, in her sour tone.
Poor Robert! Hearing that, he about gave up hope.
“Don't I show up good?” he asks in an anxious voice.
“I can see you distinct,” says I, very sharp. “You never looked better.”
Down went the window—so sudden, so unexpected that I did not know what to make of it. Robert J. thought he did, and over me he came floating, most delighted.