The Haunted Man and the Ghosts Bargain | Page 5

thought of shame! To whom would its repose and peace have
not appealed against disturbance, like the innocent slumber of a child!
"Punctual, of course, Milly," said her husband, relieving her of the tray,

"or it wouldn't be you. Here's Mrs. William, sir!--He looks lonelier than
ever to-night," whispering to his wife, as he was taking the tray, "and
ghostlier altogether."
Without any show of hurry or noise, or any show of herself even, she
was so calm and quiet, Milly set the dishes she had brought upon the
table,--Mr. William, after much clattering and running about, having
only gained possession of a butter-boat of gravy, which he stood ready
to serve.
"What is that the old man has in his arms?" asked Mr. Redlaw, as he sat
down to his solitary meal.
"Holly, sir," replied the quiet voice of Milly.
"That's what I say myself, sir," interposed Mr. William, striking in with
the butter-boat. "Berries is so seasonable to the time of year!--Brown
gravy!"
"Another Christmas come, another year gone!" murmured the Chemist,
with a gloomy sigh. "More figures in the lengthening sum of
recollection that we work and work at to our torment, till Death idly
jumbles all together, and rubs all out. So, Philip!" breaking off, and
raising his voice as he addressed the old man, standing apart, with his
glistening burden in his arms, from which the quiet Mrs. William took
small branches, which she noiselessly trimmed with her scissors, and
decorated the room with, while her aged father-in-law looked on much
interested in the ceremony.
"My duty to you, sir," returned the old man. "Should have spoke before,
sir, but know your ways, Mr. Redlaw--proud to say--and wait till spoke
to! Merry Christmas, sir, and Happy New Year, and many of 'em. Have
had a pretty many of 'em myself--ha, ha!--and may take the liberty of
wishing 'em. I'm eighty-seven!"
"Have you had so many that were merry and happy?" asked the other.
"Ay, sir, ever so many," returned the old man.
"Is his memory impaired with age? It is to be expected now," said Mr.
Redlaw, turning to the son, and speaking lower.
"Not a morsel of it, sir," replied Mr. William. "That's exactly what I say
myself, sir. There never was such a memory as my father's. He's the
most wonderful man in the world. He don't know what forgetting
means. It's the very observation I'm always making to Mrs. William, sir,
if you'll believe me!"

Mr. Swidger, in his polite desire to seem to acquiesce at all events,
delivered this as if there were no iota of contradiction in it, and it were
all said in unbounded and unqualified assent.
The Chemist pushed his plate away, and, rising from the table, walked
across the room to where the old man stood looking at a little sprig of
holly in his hand.
"It recalls the time when many of those years were old and new, then?"
he said, observing him attentively, and touching him on the shoulder.
"Does it?"
"Oh many, many!" said Philip, half awaking from his reverie. "I'm
eighty-seven!"
"Merry and happy, was it?" asked the Chemist in a low voice. "Merry
and happy, old man?"
"Maybe as high as that, no higher," said the old man, holding out his
hand a little way above the level of his knee, and looking
retrospectively at his questioner, "when I first remember 'em! Cold,
sunshiny day it was, out a-walking, when some one--it was my mother
as sure as you stand there, though I don't know what her blessed face
was like, for she took ill and died that Christmas- time--told me they
were food for birds. The pretty little fellow thought--that's me, you
understand--that birds' eyes were so bright, perhaps, because the berries
that they lived on in the winter were so bright. I recollect that. And I'm
eighty-seven!"
"Merry and happy!" mused the other, bending his dark eyes upon the
stooping figure, with a smile of compassion. "Merry and happy--and
remember well?"
"Ay, ay, ay!" resumed the old man, catching the last words. "I
remember 'em well in my school time, year after year, and all the
merry-making that used to come along with them. I was a strong chap
then, Mr. Redlaw; and, if you'll believe me, hadn't my match at football
within ten mile. Where's my son William? Hadn't my match at football,
William, within ten mile!"
"That's what I always say, father!" returned the son promptly, and with
great respect. "You ARE a Swidger, if ever there was one of the
family!"
"Dear!" said the old man, shaking his head as he again looked at the
holly. "His mother--my son William's my youngest son--and I, have sat

among 'em all, boys and girls, little children and babies, many a year,
when