speedy exit.

We had a maiden aunt who obtained a livelihood by visiting her
relations. On the morning when our last domestic left she arrived,
bag and baggage, greatly to our annoyance. We said nothing about the
disturbances to her, but agreed among ourselves that she should
sleep in the haunted chamber.

That night, about twelve o'clock, the household were awakened by a
piercing scream above stairs. All was silent for a few minutes, when
the house echoed with the startling cry of "Murder! Mur_der_!
MurDER!" The accent was very strong on the last syllable in the last
two words, as though the particular force of the exclamation was
therein contained.

I hurried to the chamber and asked at the door what was the matter.

"I have seen an apparatus," exclaimed my aunt. "Mur_der_! Oh, wait a
minute. I'm a dead woman."

[Illustration: CAT AND RAT.]

She unlocked the door in a delirious way and descended to the
sitting-room, where she sat sobbing for a long time, declaring that
she was a dead woman. _She_ had heard his chain rattle.

And the next morning she likewise left.

We now felt uneasy ourselves, and wondered what marvel the following
night would produce. I examined the room carefully during the day,
but could discover no traces of anything unusual.

That night we were again awakened by noises that proceeded from the
same room. They seemed like the footfalls of a person whose feet
were clad in iron. Then followed sounds like a scuffle.

I rose, and, taking a light, went to the chamber with shaky knees
and a palpitating heart. I listened before the door. Presently there
was a movement in the room as of some one dragging a chain. My
courage began to ebb. I was half resolved to retreat at once, and on
the morrow advise the family to quit the premises.

But my better judgment at last prevailed, and, opening the door with
a nervous hand, I saw an "apparatus" indeed.

Our old cat, that I had left accidentally in the room, had in her
claws a large rat, to whose leg was attached the missing trap, and
to the trap a short chain.

"I knew the story would end in that way," said Charlie. "But that is
not a true colonial ghost story, if it did happen in old Hingham."

The sun was going down beyond the Waltham Hills. The shadows of the
maples were lengthening upon the lawns, and the chirp of the crickets
was heard in the old walls. Charlie seemed