“‘Ye’re no’ feared,’ says he, tryin’ to gnash his teeth, and makin’ a puir job o’t, for they were maistly artifeecial. “‘Feared?’ says I. ‘No’ me! I never did onybody ony hairm that wad mak’ it worth ony ghost’s while to meddle wi’ me. A flet fit but a warm hert.’ “‘We’ll see aboot that,’ says he, as cocky as onything. ‘I had a fine job findin’ oot where ye were. Fancy me gaun awa’ doon to Millport on a nicht like this to haunt ye, and findin’ that ye had flitted up here last term.’ And he begood to gnash his teeth again. “‘Millport!’ says I. ‘Man! I was never near the place, and I’ve lived in this hoose for seventeen year, and brocht up a faimily in’t.’ “I never seen a ghost mair vexed than he was when I tellt him that. His jaw fell; he was nearly greetin’. “‘Whit’s yer name?’ he asked. “‘Erchie MacPherson, and I’m no’ ashamed o’t. Its no’ in ony grocers’ nor tylers’ books that I ken o’, and if I ever murdered ony weans or onything o’ that sort, it must hae been when I was sleepin’. I doot, my man, ye’re up the wrang close.’ “The ghost begood to swear. Oh my! such swearin’. I never listened to the bate o’t. There was fancy words in’t I never heard in a’ my life, and I’ve kent a wheen o’ cairters. “‘That’s jist like them,’ says he. ‘They tellt me Millport; and efter I couldna find the man I was wantin’ at Millport, I was tellt it was here, No. 16 Buccleuch Street. Fancy me bungin’ awa’ through the air on a nicht like this! My nicker-bockers is fair stickin’ to my knees wi’ wet.’ “‘Peter,’ says I (of course I didna ken his richt name, but I thocht I wad be nice wi’ the chap see-in’ he had made such a mistake), ‘Peter,’ said I, ‘ye’re needin’ yer specs on. This is no’ No. 16, it’s number 18, and I think the man ye maun be lookin’ for is Jeckson, that canvasses for the sewin’-machines. He came here last term frae aboot Millport. If he’s done ony hairm to ony-body in his past life--murdered a wife, and buried her under the hearth-stane or ony daft-like thing o’ that sort,--I’m no’ wantin’ to hear onything aboot it, for he’s a guid enough neebour, has twa bonny wee weans, comes hame regular to his tea, and gangs to the kirk wi’ his wife. He’s been teetotal ever since he came here. Gie the chap a chance!’ “‘Jeckson!’ said the ghost, and whips oot a wee book. ‘That’s the very man!’ said he. ‘Man! is’t no’ aggravatin’? Here’s me skooshin’ up and doon the coast wi’ my thin flannels on lookin’ for him, and him toastin’ his taes at a fire in Buccleuch Street! Jist you wait. It shows ye the wye the books in oor place is kept. If the office was richt up-to-date, Jeckson wadna be flitted ten meenutes when his new address wad be marked doon. No wonder the Americans is batin’ us! Weel, it’s no’ my faut if I’m up the wrang close, and I’m no’ gaun to start the job the nicht. I’m far ower cauld.’