He was wondering what he should do with himself, when it struck him that he would go whilst it was daylight and look for the grave with the odd verse of which Bessy had spoken.  He had no difficulty in finding it.  It was marked by a large ugly stone, on which the inscription was green and in some places almost effaced.

     SACRED TO THE MEMORY

     OF

     EPHRAIM GARNETT—­

He had read so far when a voice close by him said—­

“You’ll be late for school, young chap.”

Bill looked up, and to his horror beheld Bully Tom standing in the road and kicking the churchyard wall.

“Aren’t you going?” he asked, as Bill did not speak.

“Not to-night,” said Bill, with crimson cheeks.

“Larking, eh?” said Bully Tom.  “My eyes, won’t your father give it you!” and he began to move off.

“Stop!” shouted Bill in an agony; “don’t tell him, Tom.  That would be a dirty trick.  I’ll go next time, I will indeed; I can’t go to-night.  I’m not larking, I’m scared.  You won’t tell?”

“Not this time, maybe,” was the reply; “but I wouldn’t be in your shoes if you play this game next night;” and off he went.

Bill thought it well to quit the churchyard at once for some place where he was not likely to be seen; he had never played truant before, and for the next hour or two was thoroughly miserable as he slunk about the premises of a neighbouring farm, and finally took refuge in a shed, and began to consider his position.  He would remain hidden till nine o’clock, and then go home.  If nothing were said, well and good; unless some accident should afterwards betray him.  But if his mother asked any questions about the school?  He dared not, and he would not, tell a lie; and yet what would be the result of the truth coming out?  There could be no doubt that his father would beat him.  Bill thought again, and decided that he could bear a thrashing, but not the sight of the Yew-lane Ghost; so he remained where he was, wondering how it would be, and how he should get over the next school-night when it came.  The prospect was so hopeless, and the poor lad so wearied with anxiety and wakeful nights, that he was almost asleep when he was startled by the church clock striking nine; and, jumping up, he ran home.  His heart beat heavily as he crossed the threshold; but his mother was still absorbed by thoughts of Bessy, and he went to bed unquestioned.  The next day too passed over without any awkward remarks, which was very satisfactory; but then night-school day came again, and Bill felt that he was in a worse position than ever.  He had played truant once with success; but he was aware that it would not do a second time.  Bully Tom was spiteful, and Master Arthur might come to “look up” his recreant pupil, and then Bill’s father would know all.