I rose, and, taking a light, went to the chamber with shaky knees and a palpitating heart. I listened before the door. Presently there was a movement in the room as of some one dragging a chain. My courage began to ebb. I was half resolved to retreat at once, and on the morrow advise the family to quit the premises.
But my better judgment at last prevailed, and, opening the door with a nervous hand, I saw an “apparatus” indeed.
Our old cat, that I had left accidentally in the room, had in her claws a large rat, to whose leg was attached the missing trap, and to the trap a short chain.
“I knew the story would end in that way,” said Charlie. “But that is not a true colonial ghost story, if it did happen in old Hingham.”
The sun was going down beyond the Waltham Hills. The shadows of the maples were lengthening upon the lawns, and the chirp of the crickets was heard in the old walls. Charlie seemed quite dissatisfied with Gentleman Jo’s story. The latter noticed it.
“My story does not please you?” said Gentleman Jo.
“No; I am in a different mood to-night.”
Master Lewis smiled.
Just then a quiet old lady, who had charge of a part of the rooms in the Academy, appeared, a bunch of keys jingling by her side, much like the wife of a porter of a lodge in an English castle.
“Grandmother Golden,” said Charlie,—the boys were accustomed to address the chatty, familiar old lady in this way,—“you have seen ghosts, haven’t you? What is the most startling thing that ever happened in your life?”