A NIGHT IN A COFFIN.
Tommy watched the undertaker's house from a distance, saw the body of
the dead child taken in, waited till the crowd dispersed, and then
crept into the house by the back way.
The room in which the coffins were stored was up one flight of stairs.
No one saw him go up.
He pushed the door open, and the pale moonlight streamed in on piles
of coffins, some made of common pine and others of handsomely polished
wood.
These latter were the elegant caskets of the rich.
Pieces of wood and carpenters' tools lay all about, but what arrested
Tommy's attention was a white cloth.
This was stretched over a plainly-made coffin.
Actuated by an irresistible impulse, he approached and lifted the cloth.
A convulsive shudder ran through his limbs.
He had disclosed the pallid features of the dead boy, the poor
unfortunate who had come to his untimely end through the thoughtless
joke of his friends and himself.
It was dreadful to have to sleep in the same room with the dead.
"I'll put it out of sight," said he to himself.
Lifting up the coffin containing the dead child, he hid it under the
carpenter's bench.
It was a cold night, and he kept the sheet.
There was a boy's coffin on the floor, and he crept in.
It just fitted him.
Drawing the white cloth or sheet over himself, he soon fell asleep, in
spite of the dismal and ghastly surroundings.
An hour later Barker, the undertaker, entered.
"I guess I'll just nail a lid over that 'stiff,'" he muttered. "I've
known cats to come in here and gnaw the hands and faces. There'll be an
inquest to-morrow, and it'll be best to have it look decent."
Taking up a board, he placed it over the coffin in which Soft Tommy was
sleeping.
Then he drove in half a dozen long nails.
The sound of the nailing roused Tommy, who tried to cry out, but the
lid was so close to his face that he could not.
He felt a sense of suffocation.
In vain he endeavored to raise an alarm.
A nameless horror took possession of him. It was worse than a
nightmare, or anything that can be produced by physical suffering.
It was the fear that he was going to be buried alive--that, in fact, he
was already nailed up in his casket and on his way to the silent tomb.
"That fixes it," he heard Mr. Barker say. "Now I'll go to bed."
"Mr. Bar-Barker," Tommy strove to say, but his tongue clove to the roof
of his mouth.
The words died on his lips.
A dizziness came over him, his head seemed to swim, and he lost
consciousness.
The undertaker had nailed him in the coffin, and he was alone with the
dead.
* * * * *
Charley Barker went to sleep, after leaving Tommy, but he woke up with
a bad dream, in which he had fancied that his friend had fallen into a
furnace and was rapidly being reduced to a cinder.
He had witnessed the horrid scene distinctly in his dream, the boy's
arms were outstretched as if begging help and protection, while his
plaintive voice rang in his ears.
A cold sweat broke out all over Charley, as he started up in bed, and
such was the impression that the dream made on him, that he determined
to go to the carpenters' room and satisfy himself with his own eyes
that all was right.
It was fortunate indeed for Tommy that Charley had his dream, for had
he been left till morning in his confused and cramped position, he
would undoubtedly have been a corpse.
Hastily slipping on his clothes, Charley crept out of the room and
stood a moment at the head of the stairs to assure himself that all was
quiet.
Mr. and Mrs. Barker had retired to rest, and the house was consequently
as still as the grave; so he boldly made his way to the place where he
had left Tommy.
Striking a match, he lighted a lantern, which cast a lurid light over
the pile of coffins, and, to his astonishment, perceived that the
wooden casket into which his friend had crawled was nailed down.
"Dad's been up here," he muttered, "and I shouldn't wonder if he hain't
taken the living for the dead."
Seizing a screw-driver, he began to force off the lid, finding his
judgment correct, for there was Tommy Smithers, breathing heavily, with
the blood oozing from his eyes, nose, mouth and ears.
"By thunder," he cried, "that was a lucky dream of mine. I'm only just
in time; but better late than never; a good motto, and he yet lives."
With some difficulty he lifted Tommy out of the coffin, and placed him
on the floor, when the cold air soon revived him.
Opening his eyes, he looked curiously around him at the strange
surroundings, like one emerging from a trance, but when his eyes fell
upon Charley, his memory seemed to come back to him, and he smiled
faintly.
Presently he sat up and said:
"I guess your father nailed me down, thinking I was Tony Marsh. But how
did you come to know it?"
"It was through a dream I had," replied Charley.
"A dream," repeated Tommy, in surprise.
"Yes. I thought you were in a fiery furnace, and called to me for help.
The dream was so clear that I couldn't sleep until I had come to see if
you were all right."
"Thank you," said Tommy, grasping his hand. "You have saved my life."
He was trembling with excitement and shivering with the cold, so that
Charley concluded to offer him half his bed.
"Come and turn in with me," he exclaimed. "I'll stand a thrashing from
father. You can't rest here."
"No, indeed," answered Tommy, with a shudder. "I came too near dying
here to like the idea. Wouldn't it have been horrible if I had gone to
the grave that way?"
"I'll bet you. Wait while I put poor little Tony in the box and fix the
lid, or father will think something."
He took hold of Tony, and was about to place him in the coffin when he
dropped the body.
"What's the mat-matter?" asked Tommy, whose teeth were chattering.
"He's warm yet," answered Charley.
"What you say?" cried Tommy. "It can't be, because the doctor said he
was a gone coon."
"I don't give a straw for what the doctor said," answered Charley,
going on his knees and putting his ear to the boy's chest. "He's
breathing," he continued, after a slight pause, "and of course he can't
be dead. This is a night of miracles. Oh! ain't I just glad, that's
all. Swanny was awfully cut up, and so were we, to think that our joke
should have killed Tony."
"What'll we do?" inquired Tommy.
"Tell you what'll we do. You help me to carry him, and we'll put him
between us in my bed, and warm him."
Tommy was now strong enough to render the required assistance, and the
boys succeeded in getting the supposed corpse into bed.
There were no bones broken in Tony's body, though he was considerably
crushed and bruised.
It was an undoubted fact that he lived, for in a couple of hours he was
so much recovered that he was able to speak.
"Is that you, Swanny?" he asked.
The little fellow was accustomed to room with his elder brother, and
supposed they were in bed together.
Tommy had dropped off into a deep slumber, but Charley Barker was awake.
"No, Tony; it's me, Charley Barker. You know me, don't you?" he replied.
"Why, certainly. But why ain't I in my own house? What has happened?
I'm so sore all over."
"You got hurt when the people at the lecture had a scare, and Swanny
and I thought you'd be best here."
"Does mother know?"
"Oh, yes! Try and get to sleep, there's a good little fellow. Swanny
will be here good and early in the morning."
"I shall be glad to sleep, my head aches so, and I feel quite dizzy,
while my body is just as if I'd been beaten all over. Good-night,
Charley; it was very kind of you to take so much care of me."
Then the little fellow dozed off, and Charley Barker sank to sleep with
the sweet consciousness of having saved two lives that night by his
lucky dream.