Bill coloured, the more so as Mr. Lindsay was looking hard at him over the top of his spectacles.

“Don’t you feel rather ashamed of all your fright, now you’ve seen the ghosts without their sheets?” inquired the clever young gentleman.

“Yes, Sir,” said Bill, hanging his head.  “I shall never believe in ghosts again, Sir, though.”

Mr. Bartram Lindsay took off his glasses, and twiddled them in his fingers.

“Well, well,” he said in a low hurried voice; “I’m not the parson, and I don’t pretend to say what you should believe and what you shouldn’t.  We know precious little as to how much the spirits of the dead see and know of what they have left behind.  But I think you may venture to assure yourself that when a poor soul has passed the waves of this troublesome world, by whatever means, it doesn’t come back kicking about under a white sheet in dark lanes, to frighten little boys from going to school.”

“And that’s very true, Sir,” said John Gardener, admiringly.

“So it is,” said Master Arthur.  “I couldn’t have explained that myself, Willie; but those are my sentiments and I beg you’ll attend to what Mr. Lindsay has told you.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Bill.

Mr. Lindsay laughed, though not quite merrily, and said—­

“I could tell him something more, Arthur, though he’s too young to understand it:  namely, that if he lives, the day will come, when he would be only too happy if the dead might come back and hold out their hands to us, anywhere, and for however short a time.”

The young gentleman stopped abruptly; and the gardener heaved a sympathetic sigh.

“I tell you what it is, Bartram,” muttered Master Arthur, “I suppose I’m too young, too, for I’ve had quite enough of the melancholies for one night.  As to you, you’re as old as the hills; but it’s time you came home; and if I’d known before what you told me to night, old fellow, you shouldn’t have come out on this expedition.  Now, for you, Willie,” added the young gentleman, whirling sharply round, “if you’re not a pattern Solomon henceforth, it won’t be the fault of your friends.  And if wisdom doesn’t bring you to school after this, I shall try the argument of the one-legged donkey.”

“I don’t think I shall miss next time, Sir.”

“I hope you won’t.  Now, John, as you’ve come so far, you may as well see the lad safe home; but don’t shake hands with the family in the present state of your fists, or you might throw somebody into a fit.  Good-night!”

Yew-lane echoed a round of “Good-nights;” and Bill and the gardener went off in high spirits.  As they crossed the road, Bill looked round, and under the trees saw the young gentlemen strolling back to the Rectory, arm in arm.  Mr. Bartram Lindsay with his chin high in the air, and Master Arthur vehemently exhorting him on some topic, of which he was pointing the moral with flourishes of the one-legged donkey.