dimness was increased by the lowering clouds outside. The deep, narrow
window openings, fitted with stained glass, ran almost to the rough-hewn
rafters supporting the steep-pitched roof, upon which the heavy rain
beat again with a sound like that of distant drums. Gusts of rain and
the water from the roof beat against the south windows, while the
wailing wind played its mournful cadences about the eaves, and the
stanch timbers added their creaking notes to swell the dirgelike chorus.
At the farther end of the room two figures knelt and moved before the
white altar, the soft light of flickering candles playing fitfully upon
them and glinting from the altar ornaments, while before a rough coffin,
which rested upon two pedestals, stood a third, whose rich, sonorous
Latin filled the chapel with impressive sadness. "Give eternal rest to
them, O Lord,"--the words seeming to become a part of the room. The
ineffably sad, haunting melody of the mass whispered back from the roof
between the assaults of the enraged wind, while from the altar came the
responses in a low Gregorian chant, and through it all the clinking of
the censer chains added intermittent notes. Aloft streamed the vapor of
the incense, wavering with the air currents, now lost in the deep
twilight of the sanctuary, and now faintly revealed by the glow of the
candles, perfuming the air with its aromatic odor.
As the last deep-toned words died away the celebrant moved slowly around
the coffin, swinging the censer over it and then, sprinkling the body
and making the sign of the cross above its head, solemnly withdrew.
From the shadows along the side walls other figures silently emerged and
grouped around the coffin. Raising it they turned it slowly around and
carried it down the dim aisle in measured tread, moving silently as
ghosts.
"He is with God, Who will punish according to his sins," said a low
voice, and Hopalong started, for he had forgotten the presence of the
guide. "God be with you, and may you die as he died--repentant and in
peace."
Buck chafed impatiently before the chapel door leading to a small,
well-kept graveyard, wondering what it was that kept quiet for so long a
time his two most assertive men, when he had momentarily expected to
hear more or less turmoil and confusion.
_C-r-e-a-k!_ He glanced up, gun in hand and raised as the door swung
slowly open. His hand dropped suddenly and he took a short step forward;
six black-robed figures shouldering a long box stepped slowly past him,
and his nostrils were assailed by the pungent odor of the incense.
Behind them came his fighting punchers, humble, awed, reverent, their
sombreros in their hands, and their heads bowed.
"What in blazes!" exclaimed Buck, wonder and surprise struggling for the
mastery as the others cantered up.
"He's cashed," Red replied, putting on his sombrero and nodding toward
the procession.
Buck turned like a flash and spoke sharply: "Skinny! Lanky! Follow that
glory-outfit, an' see what's in that box!"
Billy Williams grinned at Red. "Yo're shore pious, Red."
"Shut up!" snapped Red, anger glinting in his eyes, and Billy subsided.
Lanky and Skinny soon returned from accompanying the procession.
"I had to look twict to be shore it was him. His face was plumb happy,
like a baby. But he's gone, all right," Lanky reported.
"All right--he knowed how he'd finish when he began. Now for that dear
Mr. Harlan," Buck replied, vaulting into the saddle. He turned and
looked at Hopalong, and his wonder grew. "Hey, _you!_ Yes, _you!_ Come
out of that an' put on yore lid! Straddle leather--we can't stay here
all night."
Hopalong started, looked at his sombrero and silently obeyed. As they
rode down the trail and around a corner he turned in his saddle and
looked back; and then rode on, buried in thought.
Billy, grinning, turned and playfully punched him in the ribs. "Gettin'
glory, Hoppy?"
Hopalong raised his head and looked him steadily in the eyes; and Billy,
losing his curiosity and the grin at the same instant, looked ahead,
whistling softly.
FOOTNOTE:
[8] From _Bar-20 Days_. Copyright, 1911, by A. C. McClurg and Company.
Reprinted by special permission of author and publisher.
[Illustration]
IX.--Dey Ain't No Ghosts[9]
_By Ellis Parker Butler_
ONCE 'pon a time dey was a li'l black boy whut he name was Mose. An'
whin he come erlong to be 'bout knee-high to a mewel, he 'gin to git
powerful 'fraid ob ghosts, 'ca'se dey's a grabeyard in de hollow, an' a
buryin'-ground on de hill, an' a cemuntary in betwixt an' between, an'
dey ain't nuffin' but trees nowhar in de clearin' by de shanty an' down
de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am.
An' whin de night come erlong, dey ain't no sounds at all whut kin be
heard in dat locality but de rain-doves, whut mourn out,
"Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" jes dat trembulous an' scary, an' de owls, whut mourn
out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" more trembulous an' scary dan dat, an' de
wind, whut mourn out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" mos' scandalous, trembulous an'
scary ob all. Dat a powerful onpleasant locality for a li'l black boy
whut he name was Mose.
'Ca'se dat li'l black boy he so specially black he can't be seen in de
dark _at_ all 'cept by de whites ob he eyes. So whin he go outen de
house at night, he ain't dast shut he eyes, 'ca'se den ain't nobody can
see him in de least. He jest as invidsible as nuffin'! An' who know but
whut a great, big ghost bump right into him 'ca'se it can't see him? An'
dat shore w'u'd scare dat li'l black boy powerful bad, 'ca'se yever'body
knows whut a cold, damp pussonality a ghost is.
So whin dat li'l black Mose go' outen de shanty at night, he keep he
eyes wide open, you may be shore. By day he eyes 'bout de size ob
butter-pats, an' come sundown he eyes 'bout de size ob saucers; but whin
he go outer de shanty at night, he eyes am de size ob de white chiny
plate whut set on de mantel; an' it powerful hard to keep eyes whut am
de size ob dat from a-winkin' an' a-blinkin'.
So whin Hallowe'en come erlong, dat li'l black Mose he jes mek up he
mind he ain't gwine outen de shack at all. He cogitate he gwine stay
right snug in de shack wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de rain-doves tek
notice dat de ghosts are philanderin' roun' de country, 'ca'se dey
mourn out, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls dey mourn out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!"
De eyes ob dat li'l black Mose dey as big as de white chiny plate whut
set on de mantel by side de clock, an' de sun jes a-settin'!
So dat all right. Li'l black Mose he scrooge back in de corner by de
fireplace, an' he 'low he gwine stay dere till he gwine _to_ bed. But
bimeby Sally Ann, whut live up de road, draps in, an' Mistah Sally Ann,
whut is her husban', he draps in an' Zack Badget an' de school-teacher
whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house drap in, an' a powerful lot ob
folks drap in. An' li'l black Mose he seen dat gwine be one s'prise
party, an' he right down cheerful 'bout dat.
So all dem folks shake dere hands an' 'low "Howdy," an' some ob dem say:
"Why, dere's li'l Mose! Howdy, li'l Mose?" An' he so please he jes grin
an' grin, 'ca'se he ain't reckon whut gwine happen. So bimeby Sally Ann,
whut live up de road, she say, "Ain't no sort o' Hallowe'en lest we got
a jack-o'-lantern." An' de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas
Diggs's house, she 'low, "Hallowe'en jes no Hallowe'en _at_ all 'thout
we got a jack-o'-lantern." An' li'l black Mose he stop a-grinnin', an'
he scrooge so far back in de corner he 'most scrooge frough de wall. But
dat ain't no use, 'ca'se he ma say, "Mose, go on down to de
pumpkin-patch an' fotch a pumpkin."
"I ain't want to go," say li'l black Mose.
"Go on erlong wid yo'," say he ma, right commandin'.
"I ain't want to go," say Mose ag'in.
"Why ain't yo' want to go?" he ma ask.
"'Ca'se I's afraid ob de ghosts," say li'l black Mose, an' dat de
particular truth an' no mistake.
"Dey ain't no ghosts," say de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas
Diggs's house, right peart.
"'Co'se dey ain't no ghosts," say Zack Badget, whut dat 'feared ob
ghosts he ain't dar' come to li'l black Mose's house ef de
school-teacher ain't ercompany him.
"Go 'long wid your ghosts!" say li'l black Mose's ma.
"Wha' yo' pick up dat nonsense?" say he pa. "Dey ain't no ghosts."
An' dat whut all dat s'prise-party 'lows: dey ain't no ghosts. An' dey
'low dey mus' hab a jack-o'-lantern or de fun all spiled. So dat li'l
black boy whut he name is Mose he done got to fotch a pumpkin from de
pumpkin-patch down de hollow. So he step outen de shanty an' he stan' on
de doorstep twell he get he eyes pried open as big as de bottom ob he
ma's washtub, mostly, an' he say, "Dey ain't no ghosts." An' he put one
foot on de ground, an' dat was de fust step.
An' de rain-dove say, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"
An' li'l black Mose he tuck anudder step.
An' de owl mourn out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!"
An' li'l black Mose he tuck anudder step.
An' de wind sob out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!"
An' li'l black Mose he tuck one look ober he shoulder an' he shut he
eyes so tight dey hurt round de aidges, an' he pick up he foots an' run.
Yas, sah, he run right peart fast. An' he say: "Dey ain't no ghosts. Dey
ain't no ghosts." An' he run erlong de paff whut lead by de
buryin'-ground on de hill, 'ca'se dey ain't no fince eround dat
buryin'-ground at all.
No fince; jes de big trees whut de owls an' de rain-doves sot in an'
mourn an' sob, an' whut de wind sigh an' cry frough. An' bimeby somefin'
jes _brush_ li'l Mose on de arm, which mek him run jest a bit more
faster. An' bimeby somefin' jes _brush_ li'l Mose on de cheek, which mek
him run erbout as fast as he can. An' bimeby somefin' _grab_ li'l Mose
by de aidge of he coat, an' he fight an' struggle an' cry out: "Dey
ain't no ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts." An' dat ain't nuffin' but de wild
brier whut grab him, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de leaf ob a tree whut
brush he cheek, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de branch ob a hazel-bush whut
brush he arm. But he downright scared jes de same, an' he ain't lost no
time, 'ca'se de wind an' de owls an' de rain-doves dey signerfy whut
ain't no good. So he scoot past dat buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an'
dat cemuntary whut betwixt an' between, an' dat grabeyard in de hollow,
twell he come to de pumpkin-patch, an' he rotch down an' tek erhold ob
de bestest pumpkin whut in de patch. An' he right smart scared. He jes
de mostest scared li'l black boy whut yever was. He ain't gwine open he
eyes fo' nuffin', 'ca'se de wind go, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" an' de owls go,
"Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de rain-doves go, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"
He jes speculate, "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish he hair don't stand on
ind dat way. An' he jes cogitate, "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish he
goose-pimples don't rise up dat way. An' he jes 'low, "Dey ain't no
ghosts," an' wish he backbone ain't all trembulous wid chills dat way.
So he rotch down, an' he rotch down, twell he git a good hold on dat
pricklesome stem of dat bestest pumpkin whut in de patch, an' he jes
yank dat stem wid all he might.
"_Let loosen my head!_" say a big voice all on a suddent.
Dat li'l black boy whut he name is Mose he jump 'most outen he skin. He
open he eyes an' he 'gin to shake like de aspen tree, 'ca'se whut dat
a-standin' right dar behind him but a 'mendjous big ghost! Yas, sah, dat
de bigges', whites' ghost whut yever was. An' it ain't got no head.
Ain't go no head _at_ all. Li'l black Mose he jest drap on he knees an'
he beg an' pray:
"Oh, 'scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost!" he beg. "Ah ain't mean no harm
at all."
"Whut for you try to take my head?" as' de ghost in dat fearsome voice
whut like de damp wind outen de cellar.
"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" beg li'l Mose. "Ah ain't know dat was yo' head,
an' I ain't know you was dar _at_ all. 'Scuse me!"
"Ah 'scuse you ef you do me dis favor," say de ghost. "Ah got somefin'
powerful _im_portant to say unto you, an' Ah can't say hit 'ca'se Ah
ain't got no head; an' whin Ah ain't got no head, Ah ain't got no mouf,
an' whin Ah ain't got no mouf, Ah can't talk _at_ all."
An' dat right logical fo' shore. Can't nobody talk whin he ain't got no
mouf, an' can't nobody have no mouf whin he ain't got no head, an' whin
li'l black Mose he look, he see dat ghost ain't go no head _at_ all.
Nary head.
So de ghost say:
"Ah come on down yere fo' to git a pumpkin fo' a head, an' Ah pick dat
ixact pumpkin whut yo' gwine tek, an' Ah don't like dat one bit. No,
sah. Ah feel like Ah pick yo' up an' carry yo' away, an' nobody see you
no more for yever. But Ah got somefin' powerful _im_portant to say unto
yo', an' if yo' pick up dat pumpkin an' sot it on de place whar my head
ought to be, Ah let you off dis time, 'ca'se Ah ain't been able to talk
fo' so long Ah'm right hongry to say somefin'!"
So li'l black Mose he heft up dat pumpkin, an' de ghost he bent down,
an' li'l black Mose he sot dat pumpkin on dat ghostses neck. An' right
off dat pumpkin head 'gin to wink an' blink like a jack-o'-lantern, an'
right off dat pumpkin head 'gin to glimmer an' glow frough de mouf like
a jack-o'-lantern, an' right off dat ghost start to speak. Yas, sah,
dass so.
"Whut yo' want to say unto me?" _in_quire li'l black Mose.
"Ah want to tell yo'," say de ghost, "dat yo' ain't need yever be
skeered of ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."
An' whin he say dat de ghost jes vanish away like de smoke in July. He
ain't even linger round dat locality like de smoke in Yoctober. He jes
dissipate outen de air, an' he gone _in_tirely.
So li'l Mose he grab up de nex' bestest pumpkin an' he scoot. An' whin
he come to de grabeyard in de hollow, he goin' erlong same as yever,
on'y faster, whin he reckon, he'll pick up a club _in_ case he gwine
have trouble. An' he rotch down an' rotch down, an' tek hold of a lively
appearin' hunk o' wood whut right dar. An' whin he grab dat hunk of
wood. . . .
"_Let loosen my leg!_" say a big voice all on a suddent.
Dat li'l black boy 'most jump outen he skin, 'ca'se right dar in de paff
is six 'mendjus big ghosts, an' de bigges' ain't got but one leg. So
li'l black Mose jes natchully handed dat hunk of wood to dat bigges'
ghost, an' he say:
"'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost; Ah ain't know dis your leg."
An' whut dem six ghostes do but stand round an' confabulate? Yas, sah,
dass so. An' whin dey do so, one say:
"'Pears like dis a mighty likely li'l black boy. Whut we gwine do fo' to
_re_ward him fo' politeness?"
"Tell him whut de truth is 'bout ghosts."
So de bigges' ghost he say:
"Ah gwine tell yo' somethin' important whut yever'body don't know: Dey
_ain't_ no ghosts."
An' whin he say dat, de ghosts jes natchully vanish away, an' li'l black
Mose he proceed up de paff. He so scared he hair jes yank at de roots,
an' when de wind go "Oo-_oo_-oo-o-o," an' de owl go, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!"
an' de rain-doves go, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" he jes tremble an' shake. An'
bimeby he come to de cemuntary whut betwixt an' between, an' he shore is
mighty skeered, 'ca'se dey is a whole comp'ny of ghostes lined up along
de road, an' he 'low he ain't gwine spind no more time palaverin' wid
ghostes. So he step offen de road fo' to go round erbout, an' he step on
a pine-stump whut lay right dar.
"_Git offen my chest!_" say a big voice all on a suddent, 'ca'se dat
stump am been selected by de captain ob de ghostes for to be he chest,
'ca'se he ain't got no chest betwixt he shoulders an' he legs. An' li'l
black Mose he hop offen dat stump right peart. Yes, _sah;_ right peart.
"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" dat li'l black Mose beg an' pleed, an' de
ghostes ain't know whuther to eat him all up or not, 'ca'se he step on
de boss ghostes's chest dat a-way. But bimeby they 'low they let him go
'ca'se dat was an accident, an' de captain ghost he say, "Mose, you
Mose, Ah gwine let you off dis time, 'ca'se you ain't nuffin' but a
misabul li'l tremblin' nigger; but Ah want you should remimber one
thing mos' particular'."
"Ya-yas, sah," say dat li'l black boy; "Ah'll remimber. What is dat Ah
got to remimber?"
De captain ghost he swell up, an' he swell up, twell he as big as a
house, an' he say in a voice whut shake de ground:
"Dey ain't no ghosts."
So li'l black Mose he bound to remimber dat, an' he rise up an' mek a
bow, an' he proceed toward home right libely. He do, indeed.
An' he gwine along jes as fast as he kin whin he come to de aidge ob de
buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an' right dar he bound to stop, 'ca'se
de kentry round about am so populate he ain't able to go frough. Yas,
sah, seem like all de ghostes in de world havin' de conferince right
dar. Seem like all de ghosteses whut yever was am havin' a convintion on
dat spot. An' dat li'l black Mose so skeered he jes fall down on e' old
log whut dar an' screech an' moan! An' all on a suddent de log up and
spoke to li'l Mose:
"_Get offen me! Get offen me!_" yell dat log.
So li'l black Mose he git offen dat log, an' no mistake.
An' soon as he git offen de log, de log uprise, an' li'l black Mose he
see dat dat log am de king ob all de ghostes. An' whin de king uprise,
all de congregation crowd round li'l black Mose, an' dey am about leben
millium an' a few lift over. Yes, sah; dat de reg'lar annyul Hallowe'en
convintion whut li'l black Mose interrup. Right dar am all de sperits in
de world, an' all de ha'nts in de world, an' all de hobgoblins in de
world, an' all de ghouls in de world, an' all de spicters in de world,
an' all de ghostes in de world. An' whin dey see li'l black Mose, dey
all gnash dey teef an' grin 'ca'se it gettin' erlong toward dey-all's
lunchtime. So de king, whut he name old Skull-an'-Bones, he step on top
ob li'l Mose's head, an' he say:
"Gin'l'min, de convintion will come to order. De sicretary please note
who is prisint. De firs' business whut come before de convintion am:
whut we gwine do to a li'l black boy whut stip on de king an' maul all
ober de king an' treat de king dat disdespictful."
An' li'l black Mose jes moan an' sob:
"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah King! Ah ain't mean no harm _at_ all."
But nobody ain't pay no attintion to him at all, 'ca'se yevery one
lookin' at a monstrous big ha'nt whut name Bloody Bones, whut rose up
an' spoke.
"Your Honor, Mistah King, an' gin'l'min _an'_ ladies," he say, "dis am a
right bad case ob _lazy majesty_, 'ca'se de king been step on. Whin
yevery li'l black boy whut choose gwine wander round at night an' stip
on de king of ghostes, it ain't no time for to palaver, it ain't no time
for to prevaricate, it ain't no time for to cogitate, it ain't no time
do nuffin' but tell de truth, an' de whole truth, an' nuffin but de
truth."
An' all dem ghostes sicond de motion, an' dey canfabulate out loud
erbout it, an' de noise soun like de rain-doves goin', "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"
an' de owls goin', "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de wind goin',
"You-_you_-o-o-o!" So dat risolution am passed unanermous, an' no
mistake.
So de king ob de ghosts, whut name old Skull-an'-Bones, he place he hand
on de head ob li'l black Mose, an' he hand feel like a wet rag, an' he
say:
"Dey ain't no ghosts."
An' one ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black Mose turn white.
An' de monstrous big ha'nt whut he name Bloody Bones he lay he hand on
de head ob li'l black Mose, and he hand feel like a toadstool in de cool
ob de day, an' he say:
"Dey ain't no ghosts."
An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black Mose turn white.
An' a heejus sperit whut he name Moldy Pa'm place he hand on de head ob
li'l black Mose, an' he hand feel like ye yunner side ob a lizard, an'
he say:
"Dey ain't no ghosts."
An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l black Mose turn white
_as_ snow.
An' a perticklar bent-up hobgoblin he put hand on de head ob li'l black
Mose, an' he mek dat same _re_mark, and dat whole convintion ob ghostes
an' spicters an' ha'nts an' yever-thing, which am more 'n a millium,
pass by so quick dey-all's hands feel lak de wind whut blow outen de
cellar whin de day am hot, an' dey-all say, "Dey ain't no ghosts." Yas,
sah, dey-all say dem wo'ds so fas' it soun like de wind whin it moan
frough de turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An' yevery hair
whut on li'l black Mose's head turn white. Dat whut happen whin a li'l
black boy gwine meet a ghost convintion dat a-way. Dat's so he ain't
gwine fergit to remimber dey ain't no ghosts. 'Ca'se ef a li'l black boy
gwine imaginate dey _is_ ghostes, he gwine be skeered in de dark. An'
dat a foolish thing for to imaginate.
So prisintly all de ghostes am whiff away, like de fog outen de holler
whin de wind blow' on it, an' li'l black Mose he ain' see 'ca'se for to
remain in dat locality no longer. He rotch down, an' he raise up de
pumpkin, an' he perambulate right quick to he ma's shack, an' he lift up
de latch, an' he open de do', an' he yenter in. An' he say:
"Yere's de pumpkin."
An' he ma an' he pa, an' Sally Ann, whut live up de road, an' Mistah
Sally Ann, whut her husban', an' Zack Badget, an' de school-teacher whut
board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, an' all de powerful lot of folks whut
come to de doin's, dey all scrooged back in de cornder ob de shack,
'ca'se Zack Badget he been done tell a ghost-tale, an' de rain-doves
gwine "Ooo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls am gwine, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" and
de wind it gwine, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" an' yever'body powerful skeered.
'Ca'se li'l black Mose he come a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do' jes
whin dat ghost-tale mos' skeery, an' yever'body gwine imaginate dat de
ghost a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do'. Yas, sah. So li'l black Mose
he turn he white head, an' he look roun' an' peer roun', an' he say:
"Whut you all skeered fo'?"
'Ca'se ef anybody skeered, he want to be skeered, too. Dat's natural.
But de school-teacher, whut live at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she say:
"Fo' de lan's sake, we fought you was a ghost!"
So li'l black Mose he sort ob sniff an' he sort ob sneer, an' he 'low:
"Huh! dey ain't no ghosts."
Den he ma she powerful took back dat li'l black Mose he gwine be so
upotish an' contrydict folks whut know 'rifmeticks an' algebricks an'
gin'ral countin' widout fingers, like de school-teacher whut board at
Unc' Silas Diggs's house knows, an' she say:
"Huh; whut you know 'bout ghosts, anner way?"
An' li'l black Mose he jes kinder stan' on one foot, an' he jes kinder
suck he thumb, an' he jes kinder 'low:
"I don' know nuffin' erbout ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts."
So he pa gwine whop him fo' tellin' a fib 'bout dey ain't no ghosts whin
yever'body know dey is ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board at Unc'
Silas Diggs's house, she tek note de hair ob li'l black Mose's head am
plumb white, an' she tek note li'l black Mose's face am de color of
wood-ash, so she jes retch one arm round dat li'l black boy, an' she jes
snuggle him up, an' she say:
"Honey lamb, don't you be skeered; ain' nobody gwine hurt you. How you
know dey ain't no ghosts?"
An' li'l black Mose he kinder lean up 'g'inst de school-teacher whut
board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, an' he 'low:
"'Ca'se--'ca'se--'ca'se I met de cap'n ghost, an' I met de gin'ral
ghost, an' I met de king ghost, an' I met all de ghostes whut yever was
in de whole worl', an' yevery ghost say de same thing: 'Dey ain't no
ghosts.' An' if de cap'n ghost an' de gin'ral ghost an' de king ghost
an' all de ghostes in de whole worl' don' know ef dar am ghostes, who
does?"
"Das right; das right, honey lamb," say de school-teacher. An' she say:
"I been s'picious dey ain' no ghostes dis long whiles, an' now I know.
Ef all de ghostes say dey ain' no ghosts, dey _ain'_ no ghosts."
So yever'body 'low dat o cep' Zack Badget, whut been tellin' de
ghost-tale, an' he ain' gwine say "Yis" an' he ain' gwine say "No,"
'ca'se he right sweet on de school-teacher; but he know right well he
done seen plinty ghostes in he day. So he boun' to be sure fust. So he
say to li'l black Mose:
"'Tain' likely you met up wid a monstrous big ha'nt whut live down de
lane whut he name Bloody Bones?"
"Yas," say li'l black Mose, "I done met up wid him."
"An' did old Bloody Bones done tol' you dey ain' no ghosts?" say Zack
Badget.
"Yas," say li'l black Mose, "he done tell me perzactly dat."
"Well, if _he_ tol' you dey ain' no ghosts," say Zack Badget, "I got to
'low dey ain't no ghosts, 'ca'se he ain't gwine tell no lie erbout it. I
know dat Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an' I done met up
wif him a powerful lot o' times, an' he ain't gwine tell no lie erbout
it. Ef dat perticklar ghost say dey ain't no ghosts, dey ain't no
ghosts."
So yever'body say:
"Das right; dey ain't no ghosts."