e," growled Ike.
"Go on, Bony." The horse started again, the baskets creaked, the wheels
ground the gravel, and the cart jolted and jerked in its own particular
springless way, and then all of a sudden:

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

Ike looked sharply round at me, as if he half suspected me of
ventriloquism, and it seemed so comical that I began to laugh.

"Look here," he said in a hoarse whisper, "don't you laugh. There's
something wrong about this here."

He turned the other way, and holding tightly by the ladder looked out
behind, leaning a good way from the side of the cart.

"I can't see nothinct," he grumbled, as he drew back and bent forward to
pat the horse. "Seems rum."

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover." There was the song or
rather howl again, sounding curiously distant, and yet, odd as it may
seem, curiously near, and Ike leant towards me.

"I say," he whispered, "did you ever hear of anything being harnted?"

"Yes," I said, "I've heard of haunted houses."

"But you never heerd of a harnted market cart, did yer?"

"No," I said laughing; "never."

"That's right," he whispered.

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

I burst out laughing, though the next moment I felt a little queer, for
Ike laid his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't laugh, my lad," he whispered; "there's some'at queer 'bout this
here."

"Why, nonsense, Ike!" I said.

"Ah! you may say it's nonsense; but I don't like it."

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

This came very softly now, and it had such an effect on Ike that he
jumped down from the shaft into the road, and taking his whip from the
staple in which it was stuck, he let the cart pass him, and came round
the back to my side.

"Well?" I said; "is there a cart behind?"

"I can't hear one, and I can't see one," he whispered; "and I says it's
very queer. I don't like it, my lad, so there."

He let the cart pass him, went back behind it again, reached his own
seat, and climbed in under the ladder.

Bump, jolt, creak, on we went, and all at once Basket kicked a flint
stone, and there was a tiny flash of fire.

"I've been to Paris and I've been to Dover."

There it was again, so loud that Ike seized the reins, and by main force
tried to stop the horse, which resisted with all its might, and then
stopped short with the baskets giving a jerk that threatened to send
them over the front ladder, on to the horse's back.