“It’s very kind of you to take all this trouble for nothing,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw as Silas got up to go.

“Don’t mention it,” ses Silas.  “It ain’t the fust time, and I don’t suppose it’ll be the last, that I’ve put myself out to help my feller-creeturs.  We all ought to do wot we can for each other.”

“Mind, if he finds it out,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw, all of a tremble, “I don’t know nothing about it.  P’r’aps to make it more life-like I’d better pretend not to see you.”

“P’r’aps it would be better,” ses Silas, stopping at the street door.  “All I ask is that you’ll ’ide the poker and anything else that might be laying about handy.  And you ’ad better oil the lock so as the key won’t make a noise.”

Mrs. Burtenshaw shut the door arter ’im, and then she went in and ’ad a quiet sit-down all by ’erself to think it over.  The only thing that comforted ’et was that Bill would be in licker, and also that ’e would believe anything in the ghost line.

It was past twelve when a couple o’ pals brought him ’ome, and, arter offering to fight all six of ’em, one after the other, Bill hit the wall for getting in ’is way, and tumbled upstairs to bed.  In less than ten minutes ’e was fast asleep, and pore Mrs. Burtenshaw, arter trying her best to keep awake, fell asleep too.

She was woke up suddenly by a noise that froze the marrer in ’er bones—­ the most ’art-rending groan she ’ad ever heard in ’er life; and, raising her ’ead, she saw Silas Winch standing at the foot of the bed.  He ’ad done his face and hands over with wot is called loominous paint, his cap was pushed at the back of his ’ead, and wet wisps of ’air was hanging over his eyes.  For a moment Mrs. Burtenshaw’s ’art stood still and then Silas let off another groan that put her on edge all over.  It was a groan that seemed to come from nothing a’most until it spread into a roar that made the room tremble and rattled the jug in the wash-stand basin.  It shook everything in the room but Bill, and he went on sleeping like an infant.  Silas did two more groans, and then ‘e leaned over the foot o’ the bed, and stared at Bill, as though ’e couldn’t believe his eyesight.

[Illustration:  “She saw Silas Winch standing at the foot of the bed.”]

“Try a squeaky one,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw.

Silas tried five squeaky ones, and then he ‘ad a fit o’ coughing that would ha’ woke the dead, as they say, but it didn’t wake Bill.

“Now some more deep ones,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw, in a w’isper.

Silas licked his lips—­forgetting the paint—­and tried the deep ones agin.

“Now mix ’em a bit,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw.

Silas stared at her.  “Look ’ere,” he ses, very short, “do you think I’m a fog-horn, or wot?”

He stood there sulky for a moment, and then ’e invented a noise that nothing living could miss hearing; even Bill couldn’t.  He moved in ’is sleep, and arter Silas ’ad done it twice more he turned and spoke to ’is missis about it.  “D’ye hear?” he ses; “stop it.  Stop it at once.”