“Hush, Gilbert; thou art wicked enough to bring a whole legion about us, if any of them are within hearing.  I always seemed to treat these stories with contempt, but I never could satisfy myself about the noises that old Gidlow and his wife heard.  Thou knowest he was driven out of the house by them.  People wondered that I did not come and live here, instead of letting it run to ruin.  It’s pretty generally thought that I fear neither man nor devil; but—­oh! here it is; here is the will.  I care nothing for the rest, provided this be cancelled.”

“Ay, master, they said the ghost never left off scratching as long as anybody was in the room.  Which room was it, I wonder?—­I never thought on’t to inquire; but—–­ I don’t like this a bit.  It runs in my head it is the very place; and behind that wall, too, where it took up its quarters like as it might be just a-back of the paper there.  Think you, master, the old tyke has pull’d it down wi’ scratching?”

“Gilbert,” said my uncle solemnly, “I don’t like these jests of thine.  Save them, I prithee, for fitter subjects.  The will is what we came for.  Let us dispose of that quietly, and I promise thee I’ll never set foot here again.”

As he spoke he approached the candle—­it was just within my view—­and opened the will that it might yield the more readily to the blaze.  I watched him evidently preparing to consume a document with which I felt convinced my welfare and interests were intimately connected.  There was not a moment to be lost; but how to get possession was no easy contrivance.  If I sallied forth to its rescue they might murder me, or at least prevent its falling into my hands.  This plan could only prolong its existence a few moments, and would to a certainty ensure its eventual destruction.  Gilbert’s dissertation on the occupations and amusements of the ghosts came very opportunely to my aid, and immediately I put into execution what now appeared my only hope of its safety.  Just as a corner of the paper was entering the flame I gave a pretty loud scratch, at the same time anxiously observing the effect it might produce.  I was overjoyed to find the enemy intimidated at least by the first fire.  Another volley, and another succeeded, until even the sceptical Gilbert was dismayed.  My uncle seemed riveted to the spot, his hands widely disparted, so that the flame and its destined prey were now pretty far asunder.  Neither of the culprits spoke; and I hoped that little more would be necessary to rout them fairly from the field.  As yet they did not seem disposed to move; and I was afraid of a rally, should reason get the better of their fears.

“Rats! rats!” shouted Gilbert.  “We’ll singe their tails for them.”  The scratching ceased.  Again the paper was approaching to its dreaded catastrophe.

“Beware!” I cried, in a deep and sepulchral tone, that startled even the utterer.  What effect it had produced on my auditory I was left alone to conjecture.  The candle dropped from the incendiary’s grasp, and the spoil was left a prey to the bugbear that possessed their imaginations.  With feelings of unmixed delight, I heard them clear the stairs at a few leaps, run through the hall, and soon afterwards a terrific bellow from Gilbert announced their descent into the avenue.