Tales and Novels, vol 1 | Page 5

wall,
on the landing-place of a flight of stone stairs down which the
dancing-master was obliged to go. A butcher's son (one of Forester's
new companions) he instructed to stand at a certain hour behind the
skeleton, with two rushlights, which he was to hold up to the eye-holes
in the skull.
The dancing-master's steps were heard approaching at the expected
hour; and the boys stood in ambush to enjoy the diversion of the sight.
It was a dark night; the fiery eyes of the skeleton glared suddenly upon
the dancing-master, who was so terrified at the spectacle, and in such
haste to escape, that his foot slipped, and he fell down the stone steps:
his ankle was sprained by the fall, and he was brought to Dr.
Campbell's. Forester was shocked at this tragical end of his intended
comedy. The poor man was laid upon a bed, and he writhed with pain.
Forester, with vehement expressions of concern, explained to Dr.
Campbell the cause of this accident, and he was much touched by the
dancing-master's good nature, who, between every twinge of pain,
assured him that he should soon be well, and endeavoured to avert Dr.
Campbell's displeasure. Forester sat beside the bed, reproaching
himself bitterly; and he was yet more sensible of his folly, when he
heard, that the boys, whose part he had hastily taken, had frequently
amused themselves with playing mischievous tricks upon this
inoffensive man, who declared, that he had never purposely kicked
their marbles out of the ring, but had always implored them to make
way for him with all the civility in his power.
Forester resolved, that before he ever again attempted to do justice, he
would, at least, hear both sides of the question.

THE ALARM.
Forester would willingly have sat up all night with M. Pasgrave, to
foment his ankle from time to time, and, if possible, to assuage the pain:
but the man would not suffer him to sit up, and about twelve o'clock he
retired to rest. He had scarcely fallen asleep, when his door opened, and
Archibald Mackenzie roused him, by demanding, in a peremptory tone,
how he could sleep when the whole family were frightened out of their
wits by his pranks?
"Is the dancing-master worse? What's the matter?" exclaimed Forester

in great terror.
Archihald replied, that he was not talking or thinking about the
dancing-master, and desired Forester to make haste and dress himself,
and that he would then soon hear what was the matter.
Forester dressed himself as fast as he could, and followed Archibald
through a long passage, which led to a back staircase. "Do you hear the
noise?" said Archibald.
"Not I," said Forester.
"Well, you'll hear it plain enough presently," said Archibald: "follow
me down-stairs."
He followed, and was surprised, when he got into the hall, to find all
the family assembled. Lady Catherine had been awakened by a noise,
which she at first imagined to be the screaming of an infant. Her
bedchamber was on the ground floor, and adjoining to Dr. Campbell's
laboratory, from which the noise seemed to proceed. She awakened her
son Archibald and Mrs. Campbell; and, when she recovered her senses
a little, she listened to Dr. Campbell, who assured her, that what her
ladyship thought was the screaming of an infant was the noise of a cat:
the screams of this cat were terrible; and, when the light approached the
door of the laboratory, the animal flew at the door with so much fury,
that nobody could venture to open it. Every body looked at Forester, as
if they suspected that he had confined the cat, or that he was in some
way or other the cause of the disturbance. The cat, which, from his
having constantly fed and played with it, had grown extremely fond of
him, used to follow him often from room to room; and he now
recollected, that it followed him the preceding evening into the
laboratory, when he went to replace the skeleton. He had not observed
whether it came out of the room again, nor could he now conceive the
cause of its yelling in this horrible manner. The animal seemed to be
mad with pain. Dr. Campbell asked his son whether all the presses were
locked. Henry said he was sure they were all locked. It was his business
to lock them every evening; and he was so exact, that nobody doubted
his accuracy.
Archibald Mackenzie, who all this time knew, or at least suspected the
truth, held himself in cunning silence. The preceding evening he, for
want of something to do, had strolled into the laboratory, and, with the
pure curiosity of idleness, peeped into the presses, and took the

stoppers out of several of the bottles. Dr. Campbell