The proper way to begin this story would be to assure the reader,first of all, that I have never believed in ghosts; that is the wayghost-stories usually begin, I think. Also, I should say that what Iam about to relate is perfectly true—but I won’t begin it like that.As a matter of fact, I don’t care much whether you believe me or not,and I always did believe in ghosts—at least, I always hoped they weretruer than Santa Claus, and that some day I should see one.
Aunt Jane—but I don’t want to begin with Aunt Jane either: she alwaysdid begin everything in my life, ever since I can remember, and shesha’n’t begin this story. I don’t mean her even to know I wroteit—she’d only say I’m crazy, and I’m not.
This is the way it all happened, and, mind, I don’t care whether youbelieve it or not. It happened, and your belief or disbelief won’talter that one important fact. And he was the dearest old ghost—butwait till I start at the beginning, as I should have done before.
We had gone across the lake that evening in the little sail-boat, theNew Woman. Jack named it, you might know; he said she was full ofwhims and it took a man to hold her nose in the wind—Jack’s awfullysarcastic.
There were just six of us—Aunt Jane and Mabel, Cousin Jack, ProfessorGoldburn, and Clifford Wilton. Clifford and I weren’t on very friendlyterms. We had been engaged, though Aunt Jane didn’t suspect it. But itwas all over, and my sweet little ruby ring was lying somewhere offWeir Point, where Clifford threw it one day—but this is a ghost-story.
Nothing happened during the sail except that my hat blew away andMabel hinted that it wasn’t an accident—that I liked to show off myhair. I said I didn’t show off any hair but what I might justly callmy own, and, of course, that made Mabel mad—angry, I mean. Aunt Janescolded me, as usual: it’s easy to tell which niece has the money.
We landed to visit a cave in the cliff, and Mabel and Clifford flirtedoutrageously. It wasn’t a bit interesting—I mean the cave. Theflirting didn’t worry me: I was particularly nice to ProfessorGoldburn—so nice that Aunt Jane called me her dear child twice, andthe Professor came near offering me his heart and hand. Jack saved me:he called us all to the boat just as the Professor got fairly warmedto his subject. Of course, I ran as soon as Jack called, leaving theProfessor to come nipping along behind—I hate fat men, anyway.
A storm was muttering up from the horizon, and the oily, ugly cloudswere almost over our heads before we pushed off, on account of Mabeland Clifford loitering along the cliff path and acting that silly!
The lake was smooth as glass and ink black, and the look of it made meshiver, with four miles of it between us and home.
Jack raised the sail, but it hung limp, so there was nothing for itbut to row. Jack and Clifford went to work, while I steered the boat.Clifford spoke once to me: we ignored each other, as a rule.
“Better keep her close in. We’ll try to round this point and run intothe cove before she strikes.”
“If we don’t,” remarked Jack cheerfully, “she’ll flop us; and, ohmister, she won’t do a thing to us!”
I rather thought “she” would do several things to us, but I didn’tstop to argue the point—there wasn’t time. I don’t know just how itcame about, but Jack was right—she “flopped” us.
We weren’t far from shore, so the upset wasn’t very serious. The waterwas so shallow we could easily wade ashore, though Mabel called forhelp, and, of course, it was Clifford who rescued her—from water nodeeper than our bathtub! It is incredible, the foolishness of thatgirl!