A CHRISTMAS EVE GHOST STORY.

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 81, 20 December 1884, Page 6

A CHRISTMAS EVE GHOST STORY.

The children were playing in the sittingroom. They had drawn the lounge into the middle of the floor, piled it with" every available article they could lay their mischievous hands upon, harnessed two chairs together, and, mounted on the top of the load, were driving an express waggon at full speed to some destination known only to themselves. Mamma had just finished a suit of clothes for five-year-old Willie, who had watched their progress from cutting out to sewing on of the last button, and the wee laddie marched off with a promise to keep off his knees— a promise kept for a long half hour. A thawing, drizzly day, Christmas trees are carried by covered with crystallized rain-drops, scarcely less brilliant than the bedecking of evening shall make them. The children grow boisterous, mamma opens her mouth to check them, and after the fashion of Mr Jellyby closes it without an audible sound. "Let them be happy while they may," she says, mentally, and looks out on the dreary prospect with a sigh. The yearly coal bill has just been presented, the school bill lies in the worktable drawer, other bills will soon fall due ; the children need shoes and the dozen things that a family of children are always needing ; furniture needs repairing, paint needs re-touching, the once handsome house begins to have a shabby look, that all the little arts of feminine handicraft fail to hide. Mamma calculates her resources for the hundredth time in the last twenty -four hours, and for the hundredth time says, mentally again : " Where is the money coming from?" Spirits neither of the earth nor air vouchsafe an answer. She breathes a sort of prayer, half to the Being who shapes our destinies, and half to the husband who ha& passed beyond the ken of mortal vision ; the prayer, if prayer it can be called, is a very despairing one, with little faith that it will be answered. She has prayed before, earnestly, sometimes frantically, yet all unheeded, and a hardness, a doubt in the mercy and pity of the Infinite, creeps into her heart. She thinks of one and another friend or acquaintance, whose life glides easily and pleasantly, without a care or a sorrow ; why should they be shielded from the slightest breath of the rude winds of ' adversity,- while she is weighed down by trials and anxieties ? She has been tenderly nurtured, and walked in the sheltered paths - of life until now, why must the storm burst so suddenly, and so fiercely ? It is growing dark. " Mamma, may I tell Kate to get tea ? I'm awful hungry !" shouts irrepressible Johnnie. Permission given, the good-natured but inefficient maid-of -all-work soon announces : " The table is set, mum." So mamma must cut bread and cake, make the tea, and fill the preserve dish. The table is neatly spread, tire and lamp burn brightly, and a little gleam of cheer and comfort lights the sad face and downcast eye. Let us glance at the surroundings of this little family who have suffered many recent misfortunes, the greatest being the loss of husband and father, which, happily for them, the children are yet too young to understand in its full force. The house is an old-time mansion, but having been rejuvenated by its late owner, Siows little trace of the lapse of years since its substantial brick walls were laid. It is removed from, yet in the march of. improvement, having become quite accessible to the city. Some trim villas and cottages have sprung up around it in the last dozen years ; yet the old house with its traditionary lore, still stands a well preserved and stately relic of the olded time. Many are the weird legends that have formed the subject of a winter's night gossip among the ignorant and superstitious in the neighbourhood ; for this house, wherein men have lived and died, has for long years been styled " The Haunted House." One tale is of a murdered heiress and buried gold which still awaits the fortunate finder that shall bring it to the light of day. Another is of the sudden and mysterious disappearance of a young heir whose bones are lying without Christian burial, where the dews and the sunshine of heaven never penetrate. Possibly its present occupants have laid the ghost. Twice have visitants of flesh and blood entered, not at " the open door," singularly preferring an entrance through the windows, and relieving their unconscious hosts of all their valuables, departed as they came. Twice has the heroic mistress of the mansion at the " witching time of night when the churchyard yawns," firing at burglars that were but phantoms of an excited imagination, left the traces of her valour in the walls. But certain it is that neither black spirits nor white, red spirits nor grey, nor spirits of any hue, have made their appearance. But we left our family at the tea-table. It was Christmas Eve, so there were no lessons to be learned. Mamma rouses herself for a romping game with the children, and after the stockings were hung where Santa Claus cannot fail to see them on his descent from the chimney, they are soon dreaming of the wonders of that fairy realm which furnishes an inexhaustible supply of gifts to that best and dearest old saint in all the calendar. Mamma gathers up the cast-off garments, sets things in order, then draws her chair to the fire, and falls to meditating again. Katie sings while she irons in the kitchen below, the wind sighs and moans outfide, and rain and sleet are beating against the windows. Hark ! What sound is that ? A soft footfall, a rustling of garments beside the lonely figure in the chair sends a sudden chill to her heart. Do the spirits of the dead indeed walk the earth ? Is this the ghost of a Christmas that is dead ? or is it the " Ghost of Christmas yet to come," or does the strange phantom come from overthought? A majestic form stands beside her, a deadly fear at the appearance of her unexpected and unannounced guest over comes her. , "Follow me," is breathed into her ear, and strangely enough she rises, and with trembling limbs follows the lead of her ghostly visitor. Down the staircase, through the wide, dimly-lighted hall, down another flight into a corner of the most remote cellar, leads the ghost and follows the pale-faced woman. A strange unearthly light illumes the place. A shovel stands near. " Dig ! " is the next command. Surely an ungallant ghost! but taking the shovel in her shaking hands, she begins her unaccustomed work. Little progress is made after what seems an hour of hard labour. Panting for breath she pauses to ¥6Sts Again the word "dig!" in a sepulchral tone. Again she resumes the work. Her arms and back are lame, and she can scarcely raise the shovel, but at last— a click of metal, a box. The lid flies off, and gold! gold ! gold ! meets her astonished gaze. Can it be ? Can it indeed be possible that she has been chosen to bring to light the long-hidden, treasure? thatit is all her own 2

She lifts her eyes to her supernatural visitor, but he has vanished. Alas ! alas ! Gold has vanished too. She is sitting in her arm-chair, great drops of perspiration on her forehead, and numb with cold. The fire is burning low, and Katie still sings and irons in the kitchen. The rain still beats against the window-panes, and still the query remains unanswered: " Where is the money coming from? " Was it all a dream ? Was the teller of this tale only a dreamer, waking but now ? If it be so, oh, listener, try to bear in mind the stern realities from which these shadows come, and in your sphore — none is too wide, and none too limited for such an end — endeavour to correct, improve, and soften "them. So may the new year be a happy one to you, happy to many more whose happiness depends on you.