Mrs. Burtenshaw pretended to be asleep, and Bill was just going to turn over agin when Silas let off another groan.  It was on’y a little one this time, but Bill sat up as though he ’ad been shot, and he no sooner caught sight of Silas standing there than ’e gave a dreadful ’owl and, rolling over, wropped ’imself up in all the bed-clothes ’e could lay his ’ands on.  Then Mrs. Burtenshaw gave a ’owl and tried to get some of ’em back; but Bill, thinking it was the ghost, only held on tighter than ever.

“Bill!” ses Silas Winch, in an awful voice.

Bill gave a kick, and tried to bore a hole through the bed.

“Bill,” ses Silas agin, “why don’t you answer me?  I’ve come all the way from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean to see you, and this is all I get for it.  Haven’t you got anything to say to me?”

“Good-by,” ses Bill, in a voice all smothered with the bed-clothes.

Silas Winch groaned agin, and Bill, as the shock ’ad made a’most sober, trembled all over.

“The moment I died,” ses Silas, “I thought of my promise towards you.  ‘Bill’s expecting me,’ I ses, and, instead of staying in comfort at the bottom of the sea, I kicked off the body of the cabin-boy wot was clinging round my leg, and ’ere I am.”

“It was very—­t-t-thoughtful—­of you—­Silas,” ses Bill; “but you always—­ w-w-was—­thoughtful.  Good-by—­”

Afore Silas could answer, Mrs. Burtenshaw, who felt more comfortable, ‘aving got a bit o’ the clothes back, thought it was time to put ’er spoke in.

“Lor’ bless me, Bill,” she ses.  “Wotever are you a-talking to yourself like this for?  ’Ave you been dreaming?”

“Dreaming!” ses pore Bill, catching hold of her ’and and gripping it till she nearly screamed.  “I wish I was.  Can’t you see it?”

“See it?” ses his wife.  “See wot?”

“The ghost,” ses Bill, in a ’orrible whisper; “the ghost of my dear, kind old pal, Silas Winch.  The best and noblest pal a man ever ’ad.  The kindest-’arted——­”

“Rubbish,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw.  “You’ve been dreaming.  And as for the kindest-’arted pal, why I’ve often heard you say—­”

“H’sh!” ses Bill.  “I didn’t.  I’ll swear I didn’t.  I never thought of such a thing.”

“You turn over and go to sleep,” ses his wife, “hiding your ’ead under the clothes like a child that’s afraid o’ the dark!  There’s nothing there, I tell you.  Wot next will you see, I wonder?  Last time it was a pink rat.”

“This is fifty million times worse than pink rats,” ses Bill.  “I on’y wish it was a pink rat.”

“I tell you there is nothing there,” ses his wife.  “Look!”

Bill put his ’ead up and looked, and then ’e gave a dreadful scream and dived under the bed-clothes agin.

“Oh, well, ’ave it your own way, then,” ses his wife.  “If it pleases you to think there is a ghost there, and to go on talking to it, do so, and welcome.”