“ ‘Needs must, when the—’
“ ‘Sir,’ said the little fellow, turning fiercely around.
“ ‘I beg pardon,’ said the major meekly.
“But to wind up my story—for, egad, I believe you’re asleep—the major was married, had kissed the bride, and was actually performing the same duty on the bridemaids, when the little fellow with the goggle-eyes, perceiving what he was at, seized him angrily by the arm, whisked him up the chimney, bore him swiftly through the air, and with a roar of malicious laughter, that might have been heard a mile, exclaiming,—
“ ‘There—wait, and your wife will pop in on you when you least expect it,’—let him drop to the earth, on the very common, and aside of the very pile of stones, where he had been sitting when he first saw the little, old fellow. But meantime the night had passed, and it was broad morning. The birds were singing in the neigboring woods,—the sound of the village clock striking the hour, boomed clear upon the air,—and a few cattle, with the monotonous tinkle of their bells, were leisurely crossing the commons, under the charge of a herd boy. For some minutes the major could not persuade himself but what it had all been a dream; but the damp sweat was still upon his brow, and every limb ached with the fall. So he couldn’t comfort himself with that assurance, but set himself down, on the contrary, as one of the most luckless men alive.
“From that hour, sir, the major was a firm believer in destiny, and used to sigh whenever any one would talk of matrimony. He lived in constant fear lest his wife should find him out, and at last threw up his commission, only, I believe, that he might go to Europe, for better security. Some used to say it was only a drunken dream, out of which he had been awakened by falling upon the stones, but if the major heard it he was sure to challenge the slanderer, so that, in course of time, his story got to be believed by general consent. And now—you old curmudgeon—who’ll say marriages ain’t fixed by fate?”
“But, Jeremy, to credit your ghost story requires rather a good deal of credulity.”
“Credulity! Ghost story! what, egad, is life without a touch of romance, and what romance is so glorious as the one which deals in diablerie? Ah! my good fellow if I didn’t know that the major was generally credible, and therefore in this instance to be believed, I’d endorse his story just because it proves my assertion. Answer that, if you can!”
J. S.
February, 1841.