His Unquiet Ghost | Page 8

Wyatt go, an' yit no
woman in her senses would hev been willin, ter marry him. He war ez
unresponsible ez--ez--fox-fire."
"An' ez onstiddy ez a harricane," commented another.
"An' no more account than a mole in the yearth," said a third.
The ghost at the window listened in aghast dismay and became pale in
sober truth, for these boon companions he had accounted the best
friends he had in the world. They had no word of regret, no simple
human pity; even that facile meed of casual praise that he was
"powerful pleasant company" was withheld. And for these and such as
these he had bartered the esteem of the community at large and his filial

duty and obedience; had spurned the claims of good citizenship and
placed himself in jeopardy of the law; had forfeited the hand of the
woman he loved.
"Minta Elladine Biggs ain't keerin' nohow fer sech ez Watt," said the
semblance of the setter, with a knowing nod of his red head. "I war up
thar at the mill whenst the news kem ter-day, an' she war thar ter git
some seconds. I hev hearn women go off in high-strikes fer a lovyer's
death--even Mis' Simton, though hern was jes her husband, an 'a
mighty pore one at that. But Minta Elladine jes listened quiet an'
composed, an' never said one word."
The batten shutter was trembling in the ghost's hand. In fact, so
convulsive was his grasp that it shook the hook from the staple, and the
shutter slowly opened as he stood at gaze.
Perhaps it was the motion that attracted the attention of the dealer,
perhaps the influx of a current of fresh air. He lifted his casual glance
and beheld, distinct in the light from the kerosene lamp and imposed on
the white background of the mist, that familiar and individual face,
pallid, fixed, strange, with an expression that he had never seen it wear
hitherto. One moment of suspended faculties, and he sprang up with a
wild cry that filled the little shanty with its shrill terror. The others
gazed astounded upon him, then followed the direction of his starting
eyes, and echoed his frantic fright. There was a wild scurry toward the
door. The overturning of the lamp was imminent, but it still burned
calmly on the elevated hearth, while the shoeing-stool capsized in the
rush, and the red head of its lowly occupant was lowlier still, rolling on
the dirt floor. Even with this disadvantage, however, he was not the
hindmost, and reached the exit unhurt. The only specific damage
wrought by the panic was to the big barnlike doors of the place. They
had been stanchly barred against the possible intrusion of the constable
of the district, and the fastenings in so critical an emergency could not
be readily loosed. The united weight and impetus of the onset burst the
flimsy doors into fragments, and as the party fled in devious directions
in the misty moonlight, the calm radiance entered at the wide-spread
portal and illuminated the vacant place where late had been so merry a

crew.
Walter Wyatt had known the time when the incident would have held
an incomparable relish for him. But now he gazed all forlorn into the
empty building with a single thought in his mind. "Not one of 'em
keered a mite! Nare good word, nare sigh, not even, 'Fare ye well, old
mate!'"
His breast heaved, his eyes flashed.
"An' I hev loant money ter Jim, whenst I hed need myself; an' holped
George in the mill, when his wrist war sprained, without a cent o' pay;
an' took the blame when 'Dolphus war faulted by his dad fur lamin' the
horse-critter; an' stood back an' let Pete git the meat whenst we-uns shot
fur beef, bein' he hev got a wife an' chil'ren ter feed. All leetle favors,
but nare leetle word."
He had turned from the window and was tramping absently down the
road, all unmindful of the skulking methods of the spectral gentry. If he
had chanced to be observed, his little farce, that had yet an element of
tragedy in its presentation, must soon have reached its close. But the
fog hung about him like a cloak, and when the moon cast aside the
vapors, it was in a distant silver sheen illumining the far reaches of the
valley. Only when its light summoned forth a brilliant and glancing
reflection on a lower level, as if a thousand sabers were unsheathed at a
word, he recognized the proximity of the river and came to a sudden
halt.
"Whar is this fool goin'?" he demanded angrily of space. "To the
graveyard, I declar', ez ef I war a harnt fur true, an' buried sure enough.
An' I wish