The ghost of Crooked Nose will drown his

slayer,

Drown his slayer in the seal”

“You are a liar, Big Mouth!” spluttered Probably Arboreal, hopping on

one foot and thrashing the water with his arms. “It is not a ghost; it

is an animal.”

But the chant kept up, growing louder and louder:

“The ghost of Crooked Nose will drown his

slayer!

Drown, drown, drown his slayer,

Drown his slayer in the sea!”

Out of the woods came running more and more people at the noise of the

chant. And as they caught what was going on, they took up the burden of

it, until hundreds and thousands of them were singing it.

But, with a mighty turn and struggle, Probably Arboreal went under

again, as to his head and body; his feet for an instant swished into the

air, and everyone but Probably Arboreal himself saw what was hanging on

to one of them.

It was neither ghost, shark, god, nor devil. It was a monstrous oyster;

a bull oyster, evidently. All oysters were much larger in those days

than they are now, but this oyster was a giant, a mastodon, a mammoth

among oysters, even for those days.

“It is an oyster, an oyster, an oyster!” cried the crowd, as Probably

Arboreal's head and shoulders came out of the water again.

Big Mouth, the poet, naturally chagrined, and hating to yield up his

dramatic idea, tried to raise another chant:

“The ghost of Crooked Nose went into an

oyster,