“I waited a few days, till the moon should rise late, so as to be shining about one or two in the morning, the time when the girls set off for the woods.  I provided myself with a sheet, and took care to be in the tower before midnight.  I tied two long sticks together in the shape of a cross, stuck my hat on the top, and threw the linen over the whole; and a capital ghost it was.  Then I got under the drapery, pushing up the stick, so as to give the idea of a gigantic human figure with extended arms.  I had no fear of being discovered, for the Syndic had the key still in his possession, and I had made good my entrance through a gap in the wall sufficiently well concealed by brambles.  I suppose I need not tell you, young women, how brave your mothers were.  My ghostship heard of the young men’s project, and encouraged them, never thinking there was one among them so stupid as to carry a gun to fight a ghost with; for how can you shoot a ghost, when it has neither flesh nor blood?  It was impossible to suspect any one of being such a monstrous blockhead; so I was rather disagreeably startled at hearing the crack of a gun, and feeling the tingling of a bullet whizzing past my ear.  You nearly made me into a real ghost, friend Beppo; for I assure you, you are a capital shot.  Ever since that memorable aim, I have entertained the deepest respect for you as a marksman; it was not your fault that I am here now to make this confession.  I ducked my head below the wall in case a volley was to follow the signal gun.  When I peeped again, there remained one solitary figure before the tower, immovable as a stone pillar.  O noble Beppo, it was thou!

“‘I must get rid of this fellow one way or other,’ thought I, ’but not by shaking my stick-covered sheet, or I shall have another bullet.’  So I raised myself breasthigh above the wall, made a trumpet of my hands, and roared out the fearful promise I have kept this evening.  As soon as I saw my enemy’s back, I left my station, and never played the ghost again.”

“A pretty folly for a man of forty!” cried Signora Martina, still smarting under her late fright.  “Why, a boy would be well whipped for such a trick.  There’s no knowing what to believe in a man like you, no saying when you are in earnest or in fun.”

After a moment’s silence, the lady asked in a softer tone, “Now do tell me, Morani, is it true that poor Hans recanted before he died?”

“My dear, if Padre Michele had been in time, we should have been sure of the fact.  You see the Rector did not think I knew enough of theology to decide.  I am a submissive child of the Church,” replied the husband.  “As for the ghost, I took care to provide against forgetting my folly.  On the top shelf of the laboratory I hung up the bullet-pierced hat; and the bullet itself I ticketed with the date and kept in my desk.  Who wants to see the ghost’s hat?”—­and the Doctor drew a hat from under the sheet still lying on the floor, and exhibited it to the curious eyes of all present, making them admire the neat hole in it.  The bullet itself he took out of his waistcoat pocket, and holding it towards Beppo, asked, “Hadn’t it a mark?”