"So the men searched, but they found nothing, and Mercy's room looked so neat and peaceful that they did not like to disturb it, and just looked in at the door. And when they were gone, Mercy went up and raised the cover, and the youth said that he loved her, and that if the Lord willed, he—"
Pop! The second candle went suddenly out.
"It's a shame!" cried Reuben, dancing with vexation. "It seems as if the blamed things knew when we most wanted them to last!"
"Oh, Reuben! don't say 'blamed.'"
"I forgot. Well, blame-worthy, then. There's no harm in that."
"We shall never know if the young man married Mercy," said little Eunice, lamentably.
"Oh, of course he did! That's the way stories always end."
"Now, Reuben, hurry to bed, and when you are all ready, light your candle, and if you speak loud we shall hear every word."
This was Reuben's story: "Once there was a Ghost. He had committed a murder, and that was the reason he had to go alone and fly about on cold nights in a white shirt.
"He used to look in at windows and see people sitting by fires, and envy them. And he would moan and chatter his teeth, and then they would say that he was the wind."