Never having studied the subject, I could not enlighten Mr. Brown as well as I should have desired to; but he apparently was more busy with his own thoughts than my answers, and continued,—­

“If Buckerly should make his appearance before us while we were digging for gold, how would we treat him?”

“By giving him a drink from our private bottles,” I answered, promptly.

“If he should speak to us, would it be well to answer him?  I have read that if you exchange a word with a ghost, the unfortunate can be dragged off without the power to struggle.”

“What splendid assistants they would make for private lunatic asylums.  Patients could be carried off without trouble, and without attracting attention.  I shall think of the matter again.”

“Don’t speak lightly of such serious matters,” cried Mr. Brown, with more solemnity than I ever gave him credit for.  “There are many things in this world that we cannot account for, and yet it is out of place to jest about them.”

In fact, we were not in a favorable place to talk about ghosts and goblins, for the trees under which we were lying screened the light of the stars, and prevented us from seeing each other.  Add to this the night wind wailing through the branches of the gum trees, and the profound silence that reigned around, interrupted only by the movements of the horses, or by the quiet gliding of a snake, which had been to the brook to quench its thirst, and barely ruffled a dead leaf in its course in search of companions.  Taking all these things into consideration, I’ll confess that I have passed many nights much more pleasant and satisfactory.

“Far be it from me to joke on matters of such grave import,” I said.  “I have no desire to incur the ill will of any respectable ghost, and, to tell you the truth, I don’t think that one with any pretensions to piety would want to intrude his unwelcome presence upon us.  There are people enough in the world who rather court such things, but I, for one, do not.”

I started up, as I finished speaking, and clapped my hands upon the leg of my trousers, for I felt something squirming next to the skin that did not make me rest as though upon a bed of roses.

“What is the matter?” demanded Mr. Brown; “you don’t see any thing, do you?”

“No,” I replied, with all the composure possible, “I don’t see any thing as yet—­I wish that I could.  But it strikes me that a snake has run up my trousers leg, and if I am not mistaken, he is wiggling to get out the wrong way.”

“Crush him, and then we will hereafter further discuss the subject of ghosts,” returned Mr. Brown, with admirable coolness.

“Ghosts be hanged!” I cried, and I have a faint recollection of adding an oath.  “They don’t trouble me half as much as the feelings of this varmint, whom I have secured by his head or tail, I don’t know which.”

“Shake yourself, and let him slide,” my friend advised; but I preferred to hold on and trust to chance, and find out whether the reptile was of the poisonous species, or the common green kind.