“Please, sir,” said Bill, “I’ve seen—­”

“A mad dog?” suggested the doctor.

“No, sir.”

“A mad bull?”

“No, sir,” said Bill, desperately, “I’ve seen a ghost.”

The doctor exploded into a fit of laughter, and looked more comfortable than ever.

“And where did we see the ghost?” he inquired, in a professional voice, as he took up his coat-tails and warmed himself at the fire.

“In Yew-lane, sir; and I’m sure I did see it,” said Bill, half crying; “it was all in white, and beckoned me.”

“That’s to say you saw a white gravestone, or a tree in the moonlight, or one of your classmates dressed up in a table-cloth.  It was all moonshine, depend upon it,” said the doctor, with a chuckle at his own joke; “take my advice, my boy, and don’t give way to foolish fancies.”

At this point the mother spoke—­

“If his father knew, sir, as he’d got any such fads in his head, he’d soon flog ’em out of him.”

“His father is a very good one,” said the doctor; “a little too fond of the stick, perhaps.  There,” he added, good-naturedly, slipping sixpence into Bill’s hand, “get a new knife, my boy, and cut a good thick stick, and the next ghost you meet, lay hold of him and let him taste it.”

Bill tried to thank him, but somehow his voice was choked, and the doctor turned to his mother.

“The boy has been frightened,” he said, “and is upset.  Give him some supper, and put him to bed.”  And the good gentleman departed.

Bill was duly feasted and sent to rest.  His mother did not mention the matter to her husband, as she knew he would be angry; and occupied with real anxiety for her daughter, she soon forgot it herself.  Consequently, the next night-school night she sent Bill to “clean himself,” hurried on his tea, and packed him off, just as if nothing had happened.

The boy’s feelings since the night of the apparition had not been enviable.  He could neither eat nor sleep.  As he lay in bed at night, he kept his face covered with the clothes, dreading that if he peeped out into the room the phantom of the murdered horseman would beckon to him from the dark corners.  Lying so till the dawn broke and the cocks began to crow, he would then look cautiously forth, and seeing by the grey light that the corners were empty, and that the figure by the door was not the Yew-lane Ghost, but his mother’s faded print dress hanging on a nail, would drop his head and fall wearily asleep.  The day was no better, for each hour brought him nearer to the next night school; and Bessy’s illness made his mother so busy, that he never could find the right moment to ask her sympathy for his fears, and still less could he feel himself able to overcome them.  And so the night-school came round again, and there he sat, gulping down a few mouthfuls of food, and wondering how he should begin to tell his mother that he neither dare, could, nor would, go down Yew-lane again at night.  He had just opened his lips when the father came in, and asked in a loud voice “Why Bill was not off.”  This effectually put a stop to any confidences, and the boy ran out of the house.  Not, however, to school.  He made one or two desperate efforts at determination, and then gave up altogether.  He could not go!