Bill Burtenshaw put ’is arm up and swore it.

Then ’e took ’is arm in agin and lay there wondering wot was going to ’appen next.

“If you ever break your oath by on’y so much as a teaspoonful,” ses Silas, “you’ll see me agin, and the second time you see me you’ll die as if struck by lightning.  No man can see me twice and live.”

Bill broke out in a cold perspiration all over.  “You’ll be careful, won’t you, Silas?” he ses.  “You’ll remember you ’ave seen me once, I mean?”

“And there’s another thing afore I go,” ses Silas.  “I’ve left a widder, and if she don’t get ’elp from some one she’ll starve.”

“Pore thing,” ses Bill.  “Pore thing.”

“If you ’ad died afore me,” ses Silas, “I should ’ave looked arter your good wife—­wot I’ve now put in a sound sleep—­as long as I lived.”

Bill didn’t say anything.

“I should ’ave given ’er fifteen shillings a week,” ses Silas.

“’Ow much?” ses Bill, nearly putting his ’ead up over the clothes, while ’is wife almost woke up with surprise and anger.

“Fifteen shillings,” ses Silas, in ’is most awful voice.  “You’ll save that over the drink.”

“I—­I’ll go round and see her,” ses Bill.  “S’he might be one o’ these ’ere independent—­” 277

“I forbid you to go near the place,” ses Silas.  “Send it by post every week; 15 Shap Street will find her.  Put your arm up and swear it; same as you did afore.”

Bill did as ’e was told, and then ’e lay and trembled, as Silas gave three more awful groans.

“Farewell, Bill,” he ses.  “Farewell.  I am going back to my bed at the bottom o’ the sea.  So long as you keep both your oaths I shall stay there.  If you break one of ’em or go to see my pore wife I shall appear agin.  Farewell!  Farewell!  Farewell!”

Bill said “Good-by,” and arter a long silence he ventured to put an eye over the edge of the clothes and discovered that the ghost ’ad gone.  He lay awake for a couple o’ hours, wondering and saying over the address to himself so that he shouldn’t forget it, and just afore it was time to get up he fell into a peaceful slumber.  His wife didn’t get a wink, and she lay there trembling with passion to think ’ow she’d been done, and wondering ’ow she was to alter it.

Bill told ’er all about it in the morning; and then with tears in his eyes ‘e went downstairs and emptied a little barrel o’ beer down the sink.  For the fust two or three days ’e went about with a thirst that he’d ha’ given pounds for if ’e’d been allowed to satisfy it, but arter a time it went off, and then, like all teetotallers, ’e began to run down drink and call it pison.

[Illustration:  “With tears in his eyes ‘e emptied a little barrel o’ beer down the sink.”]

The fust thing ’e did when ’e got his money on Friday was to send off a post-office order to Shap Street, and Mrs. Burtenshaw cried with rage and ’ad to put it down to the headache.  She ’ad the headache every Friday for a month, and Bill, wot was feeling stronger and better than he ’ad done for years, felt quite sorry for her.