h _would_ rattle, being complicated in
construction, and not easily checked in all its parts. But Teddy was an
ingenious fellow. He settled the latch by stuffing it and covering it
with a mass of dough! In order further to secure things, he placed a
small table against the door, and then sat down on a bench to smoke his
pipe beside the door.

It was at this point in the evening that Jack resolved, as we have said,
to be condescending.

As he had hitherto very seldom smoked his pipe in the kitchen, his
footstep in the passage caused O'Donel's very marrow to quake. He
turned as pale as death and became rigid with terror, so that he
resembled nothing but an Irish statue of very dirty and discoloured
marble.

When Jack put his hand on the latch, Teddy gasped once--he was incapable
of more! The vision of the poor Indian woman rose before his mental
eye, and he--well, it's of no use to attempt saying what he thought or
felt!

The obstruction in the latch puzzled Jack not a little. He was
surprised at its stiffness. The passage between the hall and kitchen
was rather dark, so that he was somewhat nervous and impatient to open
the door. It happened that he had left the door by which he had quitted
the hall partially open. A gust of wind shut this with a bang that sent
every drop of blood into his heart, whence it rebounded into his
extremities. The impulse thus communicated to his hand was
irresistible. The door was burst in; as a matter of course the table
was hurled into the middle of the kitchen, where it was violently
arrested by the stove. Poor Teddy O'Donel, unable to stand it any
longer, toppled backwards over the bench with a hideous yell, and fell
headlong into a mass of pans, kettles, and firewood, where he lay
sprawling and roaring at the full power of his lungs, and keeping up an
irregular discharge of such things as came to hand at the supposed
ghost, who sheltered himself as he best might behind the stove.

"Hold hard, you frightened ass!" shouted Jack as a billet of wood
whizzed over his head.

"Eh! what? It's _you_, sur? O, musha, av I didn't belave it was the
ghost at last!"

"I tell you what, my man," said Jack, who was a good deal nettled at his
reception, "I would advise you to make sure that it _is_ a ghost next
time before you shie pots and kettles about in that way. See what a
smash you have made. Why, what on earth have you been doing to the
door?"

"Sure I only stuffed up the