CHAPTER IX.
MORE TROUBLE.
All the little party were greatly puzzled but Chris was the one most troubled. The superstitious little negro was quick to attach an uncanny meaning to the strange incident.
"Hit was a ghost," he declared, solemnly. "Dat's jes' de way de ghosts do on Cat Island. Nobody can ebber find 'em when dey look for 'em. Dey jes' melt into de air."
"Bosh, Chris," derided Charley, "there are no such things as ghosts."
"Yes dar is, Massa Chas," persisted the little darkey. "Plenty of people has seed dem a heap ob times. My ole daddy on Cat Island dun seen one once. He come 'cross hit on de road one moonlight night. Hit was all white an' bigger den any man an' dar was blue fire comin' out ob hits eyes, an' nose, an' mouth. Daddy run like de wind an' he dun got away from hit. But he always 'lowed if he hadn't had his conjurer charm tied 'round his neck hit would hab cotched him sho'. Sho' dar is ghosts."
Walter laughed. "Well, if there are bad spirits there must be good spirits also, Chris," he observed, "and this one seems to be a pretty good sort. He certainly done us a good turn. If I ever meet him, I hope he will not do the vanishing act for I want to thank him."
But Chris was not to be reassured and he went about his task of getting dinner muttering darkly to himself.
"Frankly, what do you make of it?" Walter inquired of his chum as they waited the preparation of the meal.