THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS
CHAPTER I.
"Cowards are cruel." OLD PROVERB.
This story begins on a fine autumn afternoon when, at the end of afield over which the shadows of a few wayside trees were stalking likelong thin giants, a man and a boy sat side by side upon a stile. Theywere not a happy-looking pair. The boy looked uncomfortable, becausehe wanted to get away and dared not go. The man looked uncomfortablealso; but then no one had ever seen him look otherwise, which was themore strange as he never professed to have any object in life but hisown pleasure and gratification. Not troubling himself with anyconsideration of law or principle--of his own duty or other people'scomfort--he had consistently spent his whole time and energies intrying to be jolly; and though now a grown-up young man, had so farhad every appearance of failing in the attempt. From this it will beseen that he was not the most estimable of characters, and we shallhave no more to do with him than we can help; but as he must appear inthe story, he may as well be described.
If constant self-indulgence had answered as well as it should havedone, he would have been a fine-looking young man; as it was, thehabits of his life were fast destroying his appearance. His hair wouldhave been golden if it had been kept clean. His figure was tall andstrong; but the custom of slinking about places where he had nobusiness to be, and lounging in corners where he had nothing to do,had given it such a hopeless slouch that for the matter of beauty hemight almost as well have been knock-kneed. His eyes would have beenhandsome if the lids had been less red; and if he had ever looked youin the face, you would have seen that they were blue. His complexionwas fair by nature and discoloured by drink. His manner was somethingbetween a sneak and a swagger, and he generally wore his capa-one-side, carried his hands in his pockets and a short stick underhis arm, and whistled when any one passed him. His chiefcharacteristic, perhaps, was the habit he had of kicking. Indoors hekicked the furniture, in the road he kicked the stones, if he loungedagainst a wall he kicked it; he kicked all animals and such humanbeings as he felt sure would not kick him again.
It should be said here that he had once announced his intention of"turning steady, and settling, and getting wed." The object of hischoice was the prettiest girl in the village, and was as good as shewas pretty. To say the truth, the time had been when Bessy had notfelt unkindly towards the yellow-haired lad; but his conduct had longput a gulf between them, which only the conceit of a scamp would haveattempted to pass. However, he flattered himself that he "knew whatthe lasses meant when they said no;" and on the strength of thisknowledge he presumed far enough to elicit a rebuff so hearty andunmistakable that for a week he was the laughing stock of the village.There was no mistake this time as to what "no" meant; his admirationturned to a hatred almost as intense, and he went faster "to the bad"than ever.
It was Bessy's little brother who sat by him on the stile; "BeautyBill," as he was called, from the large share he possessed of thefamily good looks. The lad was one of those people who seem born to befavourites. He was handsome, and merry, and intelligent; and, beingwell brought up, was well-conducted and amiable--the pride and pet ofthe village. Why did Mother Muggins of the shop let the goody side ofher scales of justice drop the lower by one lollipop for Bill than forany other lad, and exempt him by unwonted smiles from her generalanathema on the urchin race? There were other honest boys in theparish, who paid for their treacle-sticks in sterling copper of therealm! The very roughs of the village were proud of him, and wouldhave showed their good nature in ways little to his benefit had nothis father kept a somewhat severe watch upon his habits and conduct.Indeed, good parents and a strict home counterbalanced the evils ofpopularity with Beauty Bill, and, on the whole, he was little spoilt,and well deserved the favour he met with. It was under cover offriendly patronage that his companion was now detaining him; but, allthe circumstances considered, Bill felt more suspicious thangratified, and wished Bully Tom anywhere but where he was.
The man threw out one leg before him like the pendulum of a clock.
"Night school's opened, eh?" he inquired; and back swung the pendulumagainst Bill's shins.
"Yes;" and the boy screwed his legs on one side.
"You don't go, do you?"
"Yes, I do," said Bill, trying not to feel ashamed of the fact,"Father can't spare me to the day-school now, so our Bessy persuadedhim to let me go at nights."
Bully Tom's face looked a shade darker, and the pendulum took a swingwhich it was fortunate the lad avoided; but the conversation continuedwith 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 comeback alone?"
"Of course, I do," said Bill, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable.
"It must be dark now before school looses?" was the next inquiry; andthe boy's discomfort increased, he hardly knew why, as he answered--
"There's a moon."
"So there is," said Bully Tom, in a tone of polite assent; "andthere's a weathercock on the church-steeple but I never heard ofeither of 'em coming down to help a body, whatever happened."
Bill's discomfort had become alarm.
"Why, what could happen?" he asked. "I don't understand you."
His companion whistled, looked up in the air, and kicked vigorously,but said nothing. Bill was not extraordinarily brave, but he had afair amount both of spirit and sense; and having a shrewd suspicionthat Bully Tom was trying to frighten him, he almost made up his mindto run off then and there. Curiosity, however, and a vague alarm whichhe could not throw off, made him stay for a little more information.
"I wish you'd out with it!" he exclaimed, impatiently. "What couldhappen? No one ever comes along Yew-lane; and if they did theywouldn't hurt me."
"I know no one ever comes near it when they can help it," was thereply; "so, to be sure, you couldn't get set upon. And a pious lad ofyour sort wouldn't mind no other kind. Not like ghosts, or anything ofthat."
And Bully Tom looked round at his companion; a fact disagreeable fromits rarity.
"I don't believe in ghosts," said Bill, stoutly.
"Of course you don't," sneered his tormentor; "you're too welleducated. Some people does, though. I suppose them that has seen themdoes. Some people thinks that murdered men walk. P'raps some peoplethinks the man as was murdered in Yew-lane walks."
"What man?" gasped Bill, feeling very chilly down the spine.
"Him that was riding by the cross-roads and dragged into Yew-lane, andhis head cut off and never found, and his body buried in thechurchyard," said Bully Tom, with a rush of superior information;"and all I know is, if I thought he walked in Yew-lane, or any otherlane, I wouldn't go within five mile of it after dusk--that's all. Butthen I'm not book-larned."
The two last statements were true if nothing else was that the man hadsaid; and after holding up his feet and examining his boots with hishead a-one-side, as if considering their probable efficiency againstflesh and blood, he slid from his perch, and "loafed" slowly up thestreet, whistling and kicking the stones as he went along. As toBeauty Bill, he fled home as fast as his legs would carry him. By thedoor stood Bessy, washing some clothes; who turned her pretty face ashe came up.
"You're late, Bill," she said. "Go in and get your tea, it's set out.It's night-school night, thou knows, and Master Arthur always likeshis class to time." He lingered, and she continued--"John Gardener wasdown this afternoon about some potatoes, and he says Master Arthur isexpecting a friend."
Bill did not heed this piece of news, any more than the slight flushon his sister's face as she delivered it; he was wondering whetherwhat Bully Tom said was mere invention to frighten him, or whetherthere was any truth in it.
"Bessy!" he said, "was there a man ever murdered in Yew-lane?"
Bessy was occupied with her own thoughts, and did not notice theanxiety of the question.
"I believe there was," she answered carelessly, "somewhere aboutthere. I
t's a hundred years ago or more. There's an old gravestoneover him in the churchyard by the wall, with an odd verse on it. Theysay the parish clerk wrote it. But get your tea, or you'll be late,and father'll be angry;" and Bessy took up her tub and departed.
Poor Bill! Then it was too true. He began to pull up his trousers andlook at his grazed legs; and the thoughts of his aching shins, BullyTom's cruelty, the unavoidable night-school, and the possible ghost,were too much for him, and he burst into tears.
Melchior's Dream and Other Tales Page 8