Her mother used to think she was dreaming, but, as she was so emphatic in her story, they agreed to change rooms, my grandmother sleeping in her daughter’s room. Soon after twelve o'clock my grandmother entered my aunt’s bedroom, looking very frightened. “You are quite right,” she said, “I can’t sleep there another night; I don't know how you managed to sleep there so long.” The next day my aunt inquired as to the occupants of the room who had preceded her. The host looked rather anxious. “Why,” he said, “my mother used to sleep there; she died rather suddenly a year or two ago, and I don’t think anybody has ever occupied it since.” My aunt told him of what had happened, and he said that his mother was always accustomed to wearing a thimble, and, on entering a room, used to knock on the door with it. He was unable to give an explanation of the shaking of the bed, so that must be put down as an unfathomable mystery. A Reverend Gentleman’s Story MY grandparents, with their two sons, lived at a lone farm about a mile from the village. In my early days I spent much of my time with them, and often heard them speak about the visitations of “the ghost.” They quite believed the place was haunted, and, taking into account my own experiences, I was led to believe the same. It was no uncommon thing, as we were sitting round the fire in the evening, to hear three distinct knocks at the top of the chimney, which would gradually descend to the back of the fireplace. So used were they to these rappings that they would be dismissed with just a passing reference. On moonlight nights my uncles would often go out to shoot rabbits. On one occasion, when they came back, they said they had seen a man sitting on the branch of a tree. They challenged him to come down, thinking he was a poacher in hiding, but, as they were looking at him, he suddenly disappeared. On another occasion, one night, when the snow was on the ground, one of my uncles came in from the village, and said there was a man sitting astride the wheat stack at the back of the house. My grandfather took his gun and went up to the back bedroom window, and, looking out, sure enough there sat the human form. My grandfather shouted: “If you don’t come down, I'll shoot you.” But before he had time to raise his gun, the figure vanished. Next morning they got a ladder and examined the roof of the rick to see if they could find any footprints, or if the snow had been disturbed, but not a trace could be found! Sometimes the ghost would appear in different shapes and forms. In the winter the cattle were kept up in the yard and cow-sheds. My grandfather’s brother, who lived in the village, used to come up early to feed them. One morning, when he had finished his work, he came in and said: “The thing was in the manger again.” The “thing” referred to was a white calf, which he had seen more than once in the same position, but it always disappeared when he went up to it.