“That’s one of the ghosts we read about, Bobby; I guess he won’t trouble us any more!”
Bobby did not quite understand it. He began to think that Uncle Ben might be still living; but he went to sleep again, at last, and the next time he awoke it was morning. It was daylight, and the hired, man had gone down-stairs. He looked for the ghost. There he lay, sure enough, very quiet on the floor, but, after all, it was only a bag of feathers!
So Bobby felt sure he would have to meet Uncle Ben, and that everybody would know all about it; and he felt very miserable all day, waiting for him to come. He did not go near James Scott, for he felt that it was largely owing to him that he had got into trouble. It wasn’t at all likely that he could or would help him out of it. He wanted dreadfully to go and look for his knife, but would no more have done that than he would have gone and drowned himself. Indeed, he did think rather seriously of doing the last; but, being a good swimmer, he supposed the probabilities would be against his sinking; and besides, he still had a regard for the feelings of his mother.
It was a miserably long day, but after all Uncle Ben did not come. What could it mean? Bobby did not know, but he went to bed and slept better the next night. And the next day his fears began to wear away. It was night again, and still Uncle Ben had not come.
The third morning Bobby was almost himself again. He was resolved, now, to go and look for his knife. It must be that Uncle Ben had not found it. If he had, he would certainly have made it known before this. He was quite sure, too, that Uncle Ben could not have known who those two boys were. So he went, with a lightened heart, early in the day, to look for his knife.
Of course he took a roundabout way, that he might keep as far from Uncle Ben’s house as possible. Judge of his surprise and relief when he saw, on coming in sight of the spot, not Uncle Ben, but a dilapidated scarecrow. It stood leaning against the fence, where, having served its time, Uncle Ben had probably left it, neglected and forgotten. Being arrayed in one of Uncle Ben’s old coats, it did have a strange resemblance to the old man himself.
“It’s all right, after all,” thought Bobby, and he hurried confidently forward to pick up his knife. But imagine now the surprise and fright that came into Bobby’s soft eyes when he found that his knife was not there! Neither the knife, the water-melon, nor the water-melon rinds! All were gone.
Without stopping long, Bobby turned to retrace his steps. But as he did so some one called to him. It was Uncle Ben; and he stopped again and stood mute.
“I’ve been waiting to see ye, Bobby,” said the old man, coming up. “I reckoned you’d come for your knife, and I thought you’d rather see me here than have me bring it home to ye. Of course I knew you’d been here, when I found this, but it wasn’t likely you’d come alone. I’m sorry you’ve been in bad company, Bobby. Your father and mother think you’re a good boy, and I don’t want them to think any other way. Of course you don’t want them to think any other way, either, do you, Bobby?” And the old man looked kindly down into the soft eyes.
Bobby made out to say that he did not.