All these words Pat poured forth with feverish impetuosity, as though anxious to tell everything before he could be interrupted. Not a word did he say about the other boys and the donkey. He left it to be inferred that he was to be blamed for the donkey also. He intended—the warm-hearted Irish lad—that he should be punished for that too.
“Mr. Long,” cried Bart, bursting in, “since Pat has told about the owl himself, we can confess our share. We brought up the donkey.”
“An it worn’t a thrick,” said Pat. “It wor till frighten me, so it wor, an make me stop me bell-pullins an knockins. That’s what it wor. An didn’t I get it! I wor jest pullin the sthring that wor fastened till the bell, whin the donkey let aff a bray that knocked me clain from me oun room all the way down stairs, head over heels, an fut first. That’s what it did. An that’s as thrue as I’m standin here a tellin av it.”
Mr. Long now began to question them, and soon all the facts were elicited. As the truth became known, the severity of his manner relaxed, and his tone became pleasant and kindly.
“Well, boys,” said he, “all this puts the matter in a very different light. The owl came and screeched himself. Pat was only to blame for assisting the excitement. You were only to blame for taking so very violent a way to stop the affair. It might have been stopped without that, if you had simply told all about it. But I see the odd kind of motive you had. You merely wished to surround the denouement, as you say, with such absurd accompaniments, that no boy on the hill would ever dare to hint at a ghost again. Well, I may not like your way of going to work, but I at least understand your motives. I need not say how glad I am at this explanation. I came here under a false impression, and regret that I spoke with such severity. The only thing that I blame about this is, that it was what is called a practical joke, both on Pat’s part and on yours; and that is a thing which I have always endeavored to put down. So now, boys,” he concluded, “let me say—”
At this moment there came a faint rap at the door.
Mr. Long looked at the door, but took no further notice of the sound. Thinking it was a mistake, he continued, in a pleasant tone,—
“Let me say, boys, that I have such confidence in all of you, that I feel sure—”
At this there came another rap, somewhat louder. “Come in,” said Mr. Long.
The door opened slowly. Those in the room were behind it as it opened, and they could not see who was coming. Gradually it opened, and then there stepped forth the venerable form of Captain Corbet. He carried in his arms a little bundle, which he held with the tenderest care; and there was on his face an expression made up of pride, of triumph, and of a certain joyous consciousness which he possessed that he was the bearer of that which would not fail to excite similar emotions in others.