They ran till they were out of breath; and James Scott got a long way ahead of his friend Bobby. But Bobby came up with James before he started again, and asked, as soon as he could get breath enough, “Was it Uncle Ben?”
“It must have been him, or his ghost,” was the reply. “Did you see his legs, Bobby?”
“No. Did you?”
“It didn’t look as if he had any. He was a queer-looking chap, anyhow.”
“I wonder if he’s coming?” And Bobby seemed almost ready to start again. “Do you s’pose he knew us?”
“Shouldn’t wonder if he did. But, if ’twas Uncle Ben, he’d know he couldn’t catch us. He must have been there all the time. I say, Bobby, I’m afraid we’ll hear about this.”
“I don’t see how he happened to be right there! Oh, dear! I left my knife, too!”
“I guess if t’was Uncle Ben he’ll take care of that. Of course he’ll know who it belongs to. If he gets that knife, he hadn’t oughter say anything about the water-melon. It’s worth more’n both on ’em.”
“I know it. Don’t you suppose it was Uncle Ben’s ghost, after all? I wish it was!”
“It couldn’t have been, unless he’s died since noon, you know. He looked well enough then. Do you s’pose it would be of any use to go back, Bobby?”