“Hi!  Bartram, get up!  Here’s my prime pupil.  See what we can turn out.  You may examine him if you like.  Willie:  this gentleman is a very clever gentleman, so you must keep your wits about you. He’ll put questions to you, I can tell you!  There’s as much difference between his head and mine, as between mine and the head of this stick.”  And Master Arthur flourished his “one-legged donkey,” as he called it, in the air, and added, “Bartram! you lazy lout! will you get up and take an interest in my humble efforts for the good of my fellow-creatures?”

Thus adjured, Mr. Bartram sat up with a jerk which threw his book on to his boots, and his hat after it, and looked at Bill.  Now Bill and the gardener had both been grinning, as they always did at Master Arthur’s funny speeches, but when Bill found the clever gentleman looking at him, he straightened his face very quickly.  The gentleman was not at all like his friend ("nothing near so handsome,” Bill reported at home), and he had such a large prominent forehead that he looked as if he were bald.  When he sat up, he suddenly screwed up his eyes in a very peculiar way, pulled out a double gold eye-glass, fixed it on his nose, and stared through it for a second; after which his eyes unexpectedly opened to their full extent (they were not small ones), and took a sharp survey of Bill over the top of his spectacles; and this ended, he lay back on his elbow without speaking.  Bill then and there decided that Mr. Bartram was very proud, rather mad, and the most disagreeable gentleman he ever saw; and he felt sure could see as well as he (Bill) could, and only wore spectacles out of a peculiar kind of pride and vain-glory which he could not exactly specify.  Master Arthur seemed to think, at any rate, that he was not very civil, and began at once to talk to the boy himself.

“Why were you not at school last time, Willie? couldn’t your mother spare you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then why didn’t you come?” said Master Arthur, in evident astonishment.

Poor Bill!  He stammered as he had stammered before the doctor, and finally gasped—­

“Please, Sir, I was scared.”

“Scared?  What of?”

“Ghosts,” murmured Bill in a very ghostly whisper.  Mr. Bartram raised himself a little.  Master Arthur seemed confounded.

“Why, you little goose!  How is it you never were afraid before?”

“Please, Sir, I saw one the other night.”

Mr. Bartram took another look over the top of his eye-glass and sat bolt upright, and John Gardener stayed his machine and listened, while poor Bill told the whole story of the Yew-lane Ghost.

When it was finished, the gardener, who was behind Master Arthur, said—­

“I’ve heard something of this, Sir, in the village,” and then added more which Bill could not hear.

“Eh, what?” said Master Arthur.  “Willie, take the machine and drive about the garden a-bit wherever you like.  Now, John.”