The Beverley Ghost. By Jenny Mae Blakeslee.

I.

The old Beverley place was haunted. At least that is what everybody said, and when "everybody" says a thing is so of course it is so, especially in a little town like Elliston.

There certainly was a singular melancholy air brooding over this old mansion, although it had been deserted only for about five years. The heir to the property, young Henry Beverley, had gone abroad on the death of his father, leaving the place unoccupied, and his stay had been unexpectedly prolonged.

The house was a stately structure of stone, and would seem a safe place in which to store the valuables that, according to rumor, had been left there—old family plate, rich mahogany furniture, and costly bric-à-brac. Reports of all this had aroused the spirit of covetousness in the breasts of at least the less scrupulous of the neighboring villagers. A rumor, however, that the late Mr. Beverley's shade made nightly visitations to guard his son's possessions had probably so far kept away these would-be burglars, if such existed.

Farmer Bagstock stood, one August afternoon, in the doorway of Mr. Smythe's little store—one of the kind that keeps the whole range of necessities from muslin to mowing-machines. His thin sawlike features wore an expectant expression, and his eyes were lightened by a look of cunning and greed as he occasionally glanced down the road. Farmer Bagstock was not rich in this world's goods, and the nature of his efforts to become so might, it is feared, damage his prospects in the next. His patient waiting was at last rewarded, for a long lank figure presently appeared far down the street, evidently making for Mr. Smythe's establishment.

When this individual, known as Hoke Simpkins, mounted the steps the farmer greeted him in a rather surly way.

"Ben waitin' long enough, I should think."

"Couldn't git here no sooner, 'pon my word," responded Hoke, apologetically.

After a word or two with the talkative storekeeper, Bagstock bestowed a wink upon his friend, and suggested that they "walk down the road a piece." Hoke complied, and presently they left the highway and entered a small piece of woodland. Following the course of a brook for some distance, they reached an immense oak-tree and seated themselves underneath it. The surrounding underbrush and the oak's thick trunk concealed them from the view of any one who might chance to pass along by the stream.

II.

A short time before this, James Stokes, one of the village boys, came down to the brook to try his luck at trout-fishing. The afternoon was sultry and rather cloudy, and it was probable that the fish would bite, if there were any there. But these contrary trout evidently turned up their noses at his tempting flies, and at last he gave up in despair. But Jimmy would not relinquish all hope of a "catch" yet, so he wandered further up the stream. He walked quite noiselessly for fear of scaring the fish, and at last halted just back of a large oak-tree. Before he had had time to cast his fly Jimmy heard the sound of men's voices speaking in low and cautious tones. Now he was a typical small boy, and of a shrewd and inquiring turn of mind, so he dropped quietly down on the bank and listened, screening himself from possible observation by getting behind a large stump. Soon he caught a sentence which made him hold his breath to hear more.

"Waal," slowly said a voice which he could not at first recognize, "the only thing is, we'll haf ter break a winder. I found everythin' fastened when I skirmished round t'other night."

"It 'ud make an awful racket, breakin' the glass. 'Twould be better to take a pane out, I reckon," answered the other man.

Jimmy was quite certain that this speaker was Hoke Simpkins.

"Yaas, it might," said the other, meditatively; "that big winder at the end of the hall."

"Folks say there's piles o' silver and things worth a heap o' money. How I'd like to get holt on it!"

And Jimmy knew that Farmer Bagstock had spoken.

"Don't see why we can't cut out a pane right under the ketch. Then we c'n raise the winder in a jiffy."

"Waal, it might do that way," answered Bagstock. "What d'ye say to next Monday night? That ain't too soon, be it?"

Hoke said he thought not.

"Then," went on the farmer, "we want dark lanterns, and," with a chuckle, "I don't think an old meal-bag or flour-sack 'u'd be onhandy. We could git there about nine, cut the pane aout, then go off fur a spell, fur if any one was a-lookin' it 'u'd throw 'em off the scent. After a consid'able space we could sneak back and git in. Thar, how's that for a scheme?" he finished, triumphantly.

"Fine," said Hoke, admiringly. But he added, rather slowly, "Folks say old Beverley's spook's around there, y'know, but I ain't afraid, be you?"

"Spooks!" laughed Bagstock, scornfully. "They ain't no sech thing. Ef there was, they couldn't hurt us."

Both were rather silent for a moment, however, after this brave speech, and soon the farmer suggested that they had said enough for the present, and might as well move on. They rose to leave their retreat, and Jimmy made himself as small as possible back of the stump. As he was on the other side of the brook from the men, they passed by without seeing him, and were presently lost to his view.

Then Jimmy rose to his feet, shook himself, looked around, and gave vent to his feelings by a long whistle and the exclamation, "Jiminy Chrismus, if I could only—"

He stopped short, seeming to remember that "discretion is the better part of valor," and that some one might be listening to hear what he was going to say. So he only walked away very slowly, almost forgetting to pick up his fishing-tackle in his absorption. On arriving home he laid his rod on the front porch, and without lingering a moment, dashed across the lawn, got through a hole in the fence, and then raced across lots to the village store. He encountered his bosom friend Will Smythe in front of his father's establishment, and greeted him excitedly.

"Hullo, Bill! I've got something to tell you. Quick! Come over to the orchard; I can't wait a minute."

Full of curiosity Bill followed Jimmy's lead, and they were soon in their favorite haunt, an old apple-tree.

"Now," said Jiminy, "wait till you hear what I have to tell you. Whew! It's immense!"

Billy was breathless with interest, and Jim unfolded the plot he had heard. Will became as excited as his friend could wish, and exclaimed:

"The scoundrels! Can't we head them off?"

"If we could only hit on something without letting any one know. That miserly Bagstock! Father always said he wouldn't trust him with a dime, and Hoke Simpkins would do anything Bagstock told him to. He's a coward, anyway."

Billy was lost, in thought. Suddenly he exclaimed: "Hurrah! I have it. Just the thing." In his eagerness he nearly fell out of the tree. When he had managed to tell his plan it met with tremendous applause from Jimmy. What came of Will's bold inspiration remains to be seen.

III.

Monday evening was moonless, just the night for a reckless deed. The conspirators thought that they were especially favored. By nine both were at the meeting-place, and repaired in silence to the old house. The night was one of the kind that ghosts usually select for a promenade, and this thought may have occurred to the minds of the farmer and Hoke. Each assured himself that such an idea was nonsense, but just the same this delicate subject was not mentioned.

The window being found, Bagstock proceeded to pry out the pane. Then both, after glancing cautiously about, stole away to Simpkins's house, which was not far distant. It was fully an hour before they returned and viewed the window. All was as they had left it, and Bagstock said, in a hoarse whisper,

"Now, then, you climb in first."

Hoke drew back a little. The house, somehow, looked unusually dismal.

"What, you ain't afraid, be you?" ejaculated the farmer.

Hoke said. "Of course not," but for some unaccountable reason his voice shook slightly. He consented to be boosted up, and inserting his hand in the opening, easily undid the catch and raised the lower sash. Both of them would have been seized with consternation had they imagined that but a short time before other hands than their own had made the same use of this very window.

Now, Hoke was an awkward youth, and in climbing over the sill his foot caught, which very shortly deposited him on the floor. This mishap added to his misgivings, but he picked himself up and helped in the impatient Bagstock. They were now inside the walls which sheltered the coveted treasure. What to do next?

With the aid of their dark lanterns they groped along the hall, which ran from front to back, as in most old houses built in the colonial style. Poor Hoke found his knees beginning to shake in a distressing manner. Any corner might suddenly reveal something to strike them with terror. If he had not discarded his hat before entering it would have been at present resting on the ends of his abundant crop of hair. He was obliged to catch hold of the farmer to steady himself, which called forth a growl from that quarter, for Bagstock was having all he could do to stifle some little misgivings of his own.

"Where the dickens," he muttered, "can the things—"

He stopped suddenly. The hall was wide as well as long, and they had now nearly reached the front end. At one side stood a large heavy chest, suggestive of riches stored, perhaps, in its depths. Near it was a heap of furniture and rubbish. Bagstock had taken a step forward, and almost had his hand on the chest, when his lantern flashed on something. This "something" made his knees shake more, his hair rise higher, and his eyes bulge out further than Hoke's ever thought of doing. Seated on that very chest was an object in white, perfectly motionless, its head evidently turned toward the men. The farmer was transfixed with horror, and what Hoke was undergoing at that moment may be imagined but not described. He only gave vent to a kind of howl and dropped with a thud on the floor. Bagstock looked as though his shaky knees would oblige him to follow Hoke's example, when suddenly the figure moved. It rose slowly, slowly, to its full height, raised one long arm, and pointing to the chest, said, in low, blood-curdling tones:

"Yonder lies the treasure. Beware! Touch it not, or ye die!"

They waited to hear no more. Somehow they reached that window by a succession of bumpings and scrapings, and finally, with a particularly heavy and emphatic thump, Hoke found himself on the ground. Before he could struggle up the farmer was on top of him. After they had extricated themselves it did not take long for both to put a good half-mile between themselves and the haunted house.

A rumor that two men had attempted to burglarize the Beverley house, but had been nearly frightened out of their wits by the famous ghost, and taken themselves off in terror, caused much excitement in the village. The names of the two men no one seemed able to find out, but Bill Smythe and James Stokes had many a laugh in private over the sheepish look which the faces of Farmer Bagstock and Hoke Simpkins always wore when the subject of the burglary was mentioned.

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