he stirred the fire, bolted the door, snuffed his candle, took a
courageous pull at the liquor, flung off his coat and shoes, rolled his
blanket around him, stretched himself on the mattress, and fell asleep.
He was awakened by--well, he could not say what, exactly, only he became
suddenly as wide awake as ever he had been in his life, and listened for
some sound that he knew was going to come out of the roar of the wind and
the slamming, grating, and whistling about the house. Yes, there it was:
a tread and a clank on the stair. The door, so tightly bolted, flew open,
and there entered a dark figure with steeple-crowned hat, cloak,
jack-boots, sword, and corselet. The terrified fiddler wanted to howl,
but his voice was gone. "I am Peter Printz, governor-general of his
Swedish Majesty's American colonies, and builder of this house," said the
figure. "'Tis the night of the autumnal equinox, when my friends meet
here for revel. Take thy fiddle and come. Play, but speak not."

And whether he wished or no, Peter was drawn to follow the figure, which
he could make out by the phosphor gleam of it. Down-stairs they went,
doors swinging open before them, and along corridors that clanged to the
stroke of the spectre's boot heels. Now they came to the ancient
reception-room, and as they entered it Peter was dazzled. The floor was
smooth with wax, logs snapped in the fireplace, though the flame was
somewhat blue, the old hangings and portraits looked fresh, and in the
light of wax candles a hundred people, in the brave array of old times,
walked, courtesied, and seemed to laugh and talk together. As the fiddler
appeared, every eye was turned on him in a disquieting way, and when he
addressed himself to his bottle, from every throat came a hollow laugh.
Finding his way to a chair he sank into it and put his instrument in
position. At the first note the couples took hands, and as he struck into
a jig they began to circle swiftly, leaping wondrous high.

Faster went the music, for the whiskey was at work in Peter's noddle, and
wilder grew the dance. It was as if the storm had come in through the
windows and was blowing these people hither and yon, around and around.
The fiddler vaguely wondered at himself, for he had never played so well,
though he had never heard the tune before. Now loomed Governor Printz in
the middle of the room, and extending his hand he ordered the dance to
cease. "Thou bast played well, fiddler," he said, "and