Smiling on this jewel of a captain sat our landlady in the next chair, a great deal too pretty to mind the affairs of her house, and a great deal too fine to be very good. Now, the captain was a dashing man, and though he did not look tender, he looked tender things; and besides, he was an old friend of the house, and had brought mine hostess many a little sentimental present from parts beyond the sea; so that she found herself justified in flirting with so amiable a companion by smiles and glances, while her rotund husband poured forth his ale-inspired tale. On the right hand of the hostess stood the cook, skewering up a fine breast of house-lamb, destined for the rere-supper of a stout old English clothier, Jekin Groby by name, who, placed in the other seat of honour opposite mine host, leaned himself back in a delicious state of drowsiness between sleeping and waking, just hearing the buzzing of the landlord's story, with only sufficient apprehension left to catch every now and then "_the ghost, the ghost_," and to combine that idea with strange, misty phantasies in his sleep-embarrassed brain. The sixth person was the turnspit-dog, who, freed from his Ixionian task, sat on his rump facing his master, on whose countenance he gazed with most sagacious eyes, seeming much more attentive to the tale than any one else but the cook. As I have said, Sir Osborne threw open the door somewhat suddenly, startling all within. Every one thought it was the ghost. The landlord became motionless; the lady screamed, the cook ran the skewer into her hand; the turnspit-dog barked; Jekin Groby knocked his head against the chimney; and the Portingal captain ran one of the eggs through the body with the point of his sword. It has been said that a good countenance is a letter of recommendation, and to the taste of mine hostess it was the best that could be given. Thus, after she had finished her scream, and had time to regard the physiognomy of the ghost who threw open the kitchen-door, she liked it so much better than that of the Portingal captain, that she got up with her very best courtesy; drew a settle to the fire next to herself; bade the turnspit hold his tongue; and ordered Tim Chamberlain, who followed hard upon Sir Osborne's footsteps, to prepare for his worship the tapestry-chamber. "I seem to have scared you all," said Sir Osborne, somewhat astonished at the confusion which his entrance had caused. "What is the matter?" "Nay, marry, sir, 'twas nothing," replied the landlady, with a sweet simper, "but a foolish ghost that my husband spoke of." "The foolish ghost has broke my head, I know," said Jekin Groby, rubbing his pole, which had come in contact with the chimney. "Nay, then, the ghost was rude as well as foolish," remarked Sir Osborne, taking his seat. "Ha! ha! well said, young gentleman," cried the honest clothier. "Nay, now, I warrant thou hast a merry heart."