Please to tell my sister I am much obliged to her for picking up that
old iron for me. But that old rusty fire-shovel handle, I guess that
will not do to put in again. For my father said, the last time, that he
had bought that old fire-shovel handle half a dozen times. But Aunt
Phebe’s Tommy, he pulls it out again to ride horseback on.
I know a little girl just about as big as my sister, named Rosy. Maybe
that is not her name. Maybe it is, because her face is so rosy. She had
a lamb. And she’s lost it. It ate out of her hand, and it followed her.
It was a pet lamb. But it’s lost. Gapper came up to inquire about it.
Mr. Augustus wrote a notice and nailed it on to the Liberty Pole, and
then Dorry chalked out a white lamb on black pasteboard, and painted a
blue ribbon around its neck, and hung that up there too.
Gapper let Bubby Short and me have his donkey-cart to go to ride in. He
kicked up when we licked him, and broke something. But a man came by and
mended it. So we didn’t get back till after dark. But the master didn’t
say anything after we told the reason why. Did you ever see a ghost? Do
you believe they can whistle? I’ll tell you what I ask such a question
for.
There is an old house, and part of it is torn down, and nobody lives in
it. It is built close to where the woods begin. The boys say there is a
ghost in it. I’ll tell you why. They say that if anybody goes by there
whistling, something inside of that house whistles the same tune. Dorry
says it’s a jolly old ghost. Mr. Augustus thinks ’tis all very silly.
Now I’ll tell you something.
The night Bubby Short and I were coming back from taking a ride in
Gapper’s donkey-cart, we tried it. We didn’t dare to lick him again, for
fear he would kick up, so we rode just as slow!--and it was a lonesome
road, but the moon was shining bright.
Says Bubby Short, “Do you believe that’s the honeymoon?”
“No,” says I. “That’s what shines when a man is married to his wife.”
“Are you scared of ghosts?” said Bubby Short.
“Can’t tell till I see one,” says I.
“How far off do you suppose they can see a fellow?” says he.
Says I, “I don’t know. They can see best in the dark.”
“Do you think they’d hurt a fellow?” says he.
“Maybe,” says I. “There’s the old house.”
“I know it,” says he; “I’ve been looking at it.”
Says I, “Are you scared to whistle?”
“Scared! No,” says he. “Let’s whistle, I say.”
“Well,” says I, “you whistle first.”
“No,” says he, “you whistle first.”
“Let _him_ whistle first,” says I.
“He won’t do it. Ghosts never whistle first,” says he.