He walked right under those eyes, and, brushing back his hair with his hand, he said: “Great Scott! Aren't you cold up here? Did one of you shriek or call out?” I was standing petrified with fright, with my sister clinging to me. It was a moment or two before I could tell him, and then he was off in hot chase—he was going to catch the ghost with his gun. He went and fetched a chum, and, together, they made enough noise to frighten an army of ghosts; but they did not catch one. We all felt a bit eerie, and Mr. P. persuaded his chum to sleep with him a few nights. It was just as well that he did, for one night, about two a.m., we were all awakened by the most blood-curdling screams it is possible to imagine. My sister and I sat up at once and clung tight to each other. Mr. P. and his chum were soon hammering on our door asking were we all right. The landlady was wandering about her landing in a voluminous dressing gown and night cap, with a candle: a little girl was sobbing in bed, and a boy slept through the lot. The men were determined to put an end to the matter, so down the cellar they went with lamps and pistols, and all over the house, and right up into the unused attic, but nothing could be discovered. Should any reader want to think of a reasonable clue, I can only tell them that the house was built in such a way that no sun could get into it; it was very old and appeared to have been wedged in to block up a passage way between the backyard of a grocer’s shop and the road. The front and back of the house were built away back from the level of the other houses: the houses on both sides of it seemed to squeeze the very air out of the house—it was a deadly house. As soon as I walked into the front door I used to shiver and stare straight ahead of me, as if expecting things to happen. Even in the daytime it was always dark as compared to other houses. A Ghostly Carpenter ABOUT twenty years ago my brother D went to live in a fairly large house in North London—wife and two little children with him. There was no basement; dining and drawing rooms faced each other from the hall, and, farther along, was a large, square room entirely panelled, with oak ceiling, also, save for one corner not quite finished. Upstairs a back room had evidently been used as a carpenter's workshop; so my brother, a keen carpenter, decided to use it himself, similarly. They were only just settled in when every evening a noise of wood sawing began about seven o’clock—loud and distinct, with every now and then the “whop” as the sawn piece dropped. Many friends and relatives heard it. Then, in the room overhead, began sounds of carpentering; loud noises as if wooden boxes were dropped and pushed along; and, every night, tools, which had been carefully put back in the racks, were found in the morning scattered about the room.