"If he was put into a good hot furnace, sir, and kep' at a even heat up to biling pint for half an hour—that is, as near biling as his skin could bear it—I know it 'ud do wonders," spoke up Mrs. Chuff. "It's a excellent remedy, where there's a furnace convenient, and water not short."
"Suppose you allow me to be alone with him for a few minutes," suggested Mr. Bourne. "We will try and find out what will cure him; won't we, Dan?"
The women filed out one by one. Mr. Bourne sat down by the boy, and took his hand. In a soothing manner he talked to him, and drew from him by gentle degrees the whole tale, so far as Dan's memory and belief went. The boy shook in every limb as he told it. He could not boast immunity from ghostly fears as did old Matthew Frost.
"But, my boy, you should know that there are no such things as ghosts," urged Mr. Bourne. "When once the dead have left this world, they do not come back to it again."
"I see'd it, sir," was Dan's only argument—an all sufficient one with him. "It was stood over the pool, it was, and it turned round right upon me as I went up. I see the porkypine on his cheek, sir, as plain as anything."
The same account as old Matthew's!
"How was the person dressed?" asked Mr. Bourne. "Did you notice?"
"It had got on some'at long—a coat or a skirt, or some'at. It was as thin as thin, sir."
"Dan, shall I tell you what it was—as I believe? It was somebody dressed up to frighten you and other timid persons."
Dan shook his head. "No, sir, 'twasn't. 'Twas the ghost of Mr. Frederick Massingbird."