And I says to her, firmly but kindly:
“There hain’t been no phantom here appearin’ to me, and how could I see it leave?”
And thinkin’ she wus in the dark on this matter, and it was my duty to enlighten her, says I:
“Somebody has been a-trying to impose on you, mam. There ’haint no such things as ghosts or phantoms.”
She said sunthin’ about “their bein’ a case,” or sunthin’; she talked dretful low, and the noise around was fearful, so I couldn’t heer her over and above well. But from what I did heer, I see she was on the wrong track, and says I firmly:
“I defy you, mam, to bring forward a case of ghost, or phantom, that will bear the daylight,” says I, “they are made up of fear, and fancy, and moonshine.”
She took up her parasol, and pinted right up to a glass case, and says she:
“I ment them phantom leaves there, up in that case.”
“Oh!” says I, in a relieved tone. “I thought you ment a ghost!”
They looked handsome, some like the frost-work on our windows in the winter.