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"Him that was riding by the cross roads and dragged into Yew-lane, and his head cut off and never found, and his body buried in the churchyard," said Bully Tom, with a rush of superior information; "and all I know is, if I thought he walked in Yew-lane, or any other lane, I wouldn't go within five mile of it after dusk that's all. But then I'm not book-larned."
Bill thought again, and decided that he could bear a thrashing, but not the sight of the Yew-lane Ghost; so he remained where he was, wondering how it would be, and how he should get over the next school-night when it came.
"Of course you don't," sneered his tormentor; "you're too well educated. Some people does, though. I suppose them that has seen them does. Some people thinks that murdered men walk. P'raps some people thinks the man as was murdered in Yew-lane walks." "What man?" gasped Bill, feeling very chilly down the spine.
It has been fairly earned! Give the ghost his shroud, Gardener, and let him go; and recommend him not to haunt Yew-lane in future." John did so, with a few words of parting advice on his own account. "Be hoff with you," he said. "Master Lindsay, he speaks like a book. You're a disgrace to your hage and sect, you are! I'd as soon fight with an old char-woman.
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."
Bully Tom's face looked a shade darker, and the pendulum took a swing which it was fortunate the lad avoided; but the conversation continued with every appearance of civility. "You come back by Yew-lane, I suppose?" "Yes." "Why, there's no one lives your way but old Johnson; you must come back alone?" "Of course I do," said Bill, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable.
Bartram took another look over the top of his eye-glass and sat bolt upright, and John Gardener stayed his machine and listened, while poor Bill told the whole story of the Yew-lane Ghost. When it was finished, the gardener, who was behind Master Arthur, said "I've heard something of this, sir, in the village," and then added more which Bill could not hear. "Eh, what?" said Master Arthur.
Curiosity, however, and a vague alarm which he could not throw off, made him stay for a little more information. "I wish you'd out with it!" he exclaimed impatiently. "What could happen? No one ever comes along Yew-lane; and if they did, they wouldn't hurt me."
Yew-lane cool and dark when the hottest sunshine lay beyond it a loitering-place for lovers the dearly loved play-place of generations of children on sultry summer days looked very grim and vault-like, with narrow streaks of moonlight peeping in at rare intervals to make the darkness to be felt! Moreover, it was really damp and cold, which is not favorable to courage.
When Bill saw this fearful apparition he screamed with hearty good-will; but the noise he made was nothing to the yell of terror that came from beneath the shroud of the Yew-lane Ghost, who, on catching sight of the rival spectre, flew wildly up the lane, kicking the white sheet off as it went, and finally displaying, to Bill's amazement, the form and features of Bully Tom. But this was not all.
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