fished in silence for some time, and Johnnie was nodding, when Eph suddenly whispered:

   "Let's go home, sonny, I think I see a ha'nt down yander."

   Johnnie had no idea what a "ha'nt" might be, but Eph's constrained manner betokened something dreadful.

   It was not until they had come within sight of home that Johnnie ventured to inquire:

   "Say, Eph, what is a ha'nt?"

   "Huh! What is ha'nts? Why, sonny, you mean to tell me you don't know what ha'nts is?"

   "Not exactly; sompin' like wildcats, ain't they?"

   "Well, I'll be confounded! Wildcats! Not by a long shot;" and Eph broke into the soft chuckle which always preceded his explanations. They reached the orchard fence, and, seating himself squarely on the topmost rail, Eph began impressively:

   "Ha'nts is the remains of dead folks—more 'specially them that's been assinated, er, that is, kilt—understan'? They're kind o' like sperrits, ye know. After so long a time they take to comin' back to yarth an' ha'ntin' the precise spot where they wuz murdered. They always come

   after dark, an' the diffrunt shapes they take on is supprisin'. I have seed ha'nts that looked like sheep, an' ha'nts that looked like human persons; but lots of 'em ye cain't see a-tall, bein' invisible, as the sayin' is. Now, fer all we know, they may be a ha'nt settin' right here betwixt us, this minute!"

   With this solemn declaration Johnnie shivered and began edging closer to Eph, until restrained and appalled by the thought that he might actually sit on the unseen spirit by such movement.

   "But do they hurt people, Eph?" he asked anxiously.

   Eph gave vent to another chuckle.

   "Not if ye understan' the'r ways," he observed sagely. "If ye let 'em alone an' don't go foolin' aroun' the'r ha'ntin'-groun' they'll never harm ye. But don't ye never trifle with no ha'nt, sonny. I knowed a feller't thought 'twuz smart to hector 'em an' said he wuzn't feared. Onct he throwed a rock at one—"

   Here Eph paused.

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