egree hurtful and
foolish, but for every body; for what intelligent person could amuse
himself with the doings and sayings of things that exist only in the
brain of a fool? There is where the ghost walks, and nowhere else. But
these stories do the most harm among the country people. Their faith in
absurdities of this kind is firm and unwavering, and this belief is
nourished in the inns and spinning rooms, where they huddle close
together and in a timid tone relate the most horrible stories they can
call to mind."

"Yes," responded the wagoner; "many a misfortune has occurred through
these stories, and, indeed, my own sister lost her life thereby."

"How was that? Through these ghost stories, did you say?" exclaimed the
men, in surprise.

"Yes, certainly, by such stories," continued the wagoner. "In the
village where our father lived it was the custom for the wives and
maidens to get together with their spinning on a Winter's evening. The
young men would also be there and tell many stories. So it happened
that one evening when they were speaking about ghosts, the young men
told about an old store-keeper who died ten years before, but found no
rest in his grave. Every night he would throw up the earth, rise from
his grave, steal slowly along to his store, coughing as was his wont in
life, and there weigh out sugar and coffee, mumbling meanwhile:

"Twelve ounces, twelve ounces, at dark midnight,
Equal sixteen, in broad daylight.

"Many claimed that they had seen him, and the maids and wives got quite
frightened. But my sister, a girl of sixteen, wishing to show that she
was less foolish than the others, said: 'I don't believe a word of
that; he who is once dead never comes back!' She said this,
unfortunately, without a conviction of its truth, for she had been
frightened many times herself. Thereupon one of the young people said:
'If you believe that, then you would have no reason to be afraid of
him; his grave is only two paces from that of Kate's, who recently
died. If you dare, go to the church-yard, pick a flower from Kate's
grave, and bring it to us; then we will begin to believe that you are
not afraid of the store-keeper's ghost. My sister was ashamed of being
laughed at by the others, therefore she said: 'Oh, that's easy enough;
what kind of a flower do you want?' 'The only white rose in the village
blooms there; so bring us a bunch of those,' answered one of her
friends. She got up and