The Young Mountaineers | Page 2

be let ter know 'bout'n that thar harnt. It mought
skeer him so ez he couldn't live another minit. He hev aged some
lately--an' he air weakly."
This was "Old Daddy."
Before he had reached his thirtieth year, he was thus known, far and
wide.
"He air the man ez hev got a son," the mountaineers used to say in
grinning explanation. "Ter hear him brag 'bout'n that thar boy o' his'n,
ye'd think he war the only man in Tennessee ez ever hed a son."
Throughout all these years the name given in jocose banter had clung to
him, and now, hallowed by ancient usage, it was accorded to him
seriously, and had all the sonorous effect of a title.
So they said nothing to Old Daddy, but presently, when he had hobbled
off to bed in the adjoining shed-room, they fell to discussing their terror
of the apparition, and thus it chanced that the two boys, Tad and Si,
first made, as it were, the ghost's acquaintance.
Tad, a stalwart fellow of seventeen, sat listening spellbound before the
glowing embers. Si, a wiry, active, tow-headed boy of twelve, perched
with dangling legs on a chest, and looked now at the group by the fire,
and now through the open door at the brilliant moonlight.
"Waal, sir," he muttered, "I'll hev ter gin up the notion o' gittin' that
comical young owel, what I hev done set my heart onto. 'Kase ef I war
ter fool round Old Daddy's Window, now, whilst I war a-cotchin' o' the
owel, the ghost mought--cotch--Me!"
A sorry ghost, to be sure, that has nothing better to do than to "cotch"
him! But perhaps Si Creyshaw is not the only one of us who has an
inflated idea of his own importance.
He was greatly awed, and he found many suggestions of supernatural
presence about the familiar room. As the fire alternately flared and

faded, the warping-bars looked as if they were dancing a clumsy
measure. The handle of a portly jug resembled an arm stuck akimbo,
and its cork, tilted askew, was like a hat set on one side; Si fancied
there was a most unpleasant grimace below that hat. The churn-dasher,
left upon a shelf to dry, was sardonically staring him out of
countenance with its half-dozen eyes. The strings of red pepper-pods
and gourds and herbs, swinging from the rafters, rustled faintly; it
sounded to Si like a moan.
He wished his father and mother would talk about some wholesome
subject, like Spot's new calf, for instance, instead of whispering about
the mystery of Old Daddy's Window.
He wished Tad would not look, as he listened, so much like a ghost
himself, with his starting eyes and pale, intent face. He even wished
that the baby would wake up, and put some life into things with a good
healthy, rousing bawl.
But the baby slept peacefully on, and after so long a time Si Creyshaw
slept too.
With broad daylight his courage revived. He was no longer afraid to
think of the ghost. In fact, he experienced a pleased importance in
giving Old Daddy a minute account of the wonderful apparition, for he
felt as if he had seen it.
"'Pears ter me toler'ble comical, gran'dad, ez they never tole ye a word
'bout'n it all," he said in conclusion. "Ye mought hev liked ter seen the
harnt. Ef he war 'quainted with ye when he lived in this life, he mought
hev stopped an' jowed sociable fur a spell!"
How brave this small boy was in the cheerful sunshine!
Old Daddy hardly seemed impressed with the pleasure he had missed
in losing a sociable "jow" with a ghostly crony. He sat silent, blinking
in the sunshine that fell through the gourd-vines which clambered about
the porch where Si had placed his chair.

"'Twarn't much of a sizable sperit," Si declared; he seemed courageous
enough now to measure the ghost like a tailor. "It warn't more'n four
feet high, ez nigh ez dad could jedge. Toler'ble small fur a harnt!"
Still the old man made no reply. His wrinkled hands were clasped on
his stick. His white head, shaded by his limp black hat, was bent down
close to them. There was a slow, pondering expression on his face, but
an excited gleam in his eye. Presently, he pointed backward toward a
little unhewn log shanty that served as a barn, and rising with unwonted
alacrity, he said to the boy,--
"Fotch me the old beastis!"
Silas Creyshaw stood amazed, for Old Daddy had not mounted a horse
for twenty years.
"Studyin' 'bout'n the harnt so much hev teched him in the head," the
small boy concluded. Then he made an excuse, for he knew his
grandfather was too old and feeble to