g that if he peeped
out into the room the phantom of the murdered horseman would beckon to
him from the dark corners. Lying so till the dawn broke and the cocks
began to crow, he would then look cautiously forth, and seeing by the
grey light that the corners were empty, and that the figure by the
door was not the Yew-lane Ghost, but his mother's faded print dress
hanging on a nail, would drop his head and fall wearily asleep. The
day was no better, for each hour brought him nearer to the next night
school; and Bessy's illness made his mother so busy, that he never
could find the right moment to ask her sympathy for his fears, and
still less could he feel himself able to overcome them. And so the
night-school came round again, and there he sat, gulping down a few
mouthfuls of food, and wondering how he should begin to tell his
mother that he neither dare, could, nor would, go down Yew-lane again
at night. He had just opened his lips when the father came in, and
asked in a loud voice "Why Bill was not off." This effectually put a
stop to any confidences, and the boy ran out of the house. Not,
however, to school. He made one or two desperate efforts at
determination, and then gave up altogether. He _could_ not go!

He was wondering what he should do with himself, when it struck him
that he would go whilst it was daylight and look for the grave with
the odd verse of which Bessy had spoken. He had no difficulty in
finding it. It was marked by a large ugly stone, on which the
inscription was green and in some places almost effaced.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY

OF

EPHRAIM GARNETT--

He had read so far when a voice close by him said--

"You'll be late for school, young chap."

Bill looked up, and to his horror beheld Bully Tom standing in the
road and kicking the churchyard wall.

"Aren't you going?" he asked, as Bill did not speak.

"Not to-night," said Bill, with crimson cheeks.

"Larking, eh?" said Bully Tom. "My eyes, won't your father give it
you!" and he began to move off.

"Stop!" shouted Bill in an agony; "don't tell him, Tom. That would be
a dirty trick. I'll go next time, I will indeed; I can't go to-night.
I'm not larking, I'm scared. You won't tell?"

"Not this time, maybe," was the reply; "but I wouldn't be in your
shoes if you play this game next night;" and off he went.

Bill thought it well to quit the churchyard at once for some place
where he was not likely to be seen; he had never p