And all Dobbs did for answer, was to lay his hand respectfully on the Squire's coat-sleeve to begin with, so as to prevent his running away. Then he entered upon his whispered tale. Leaning our arms upon the low gate, we listened to it, and to the curious sound of weeping and wailing that stole faintly on our ears from amongst the garden trees. The scene altogether looked weird enough in the moonlight, flickering through the rustling leaves. Dobbs, naturally an unbeliever in ghosts, had grown to think that this ghost, so long talked of, was no ghost at all, but some one got up to resemble one by Caromel's Farm, for some mysterious purpose of its own. Remembering his attack of fright, and resenting it excessively, Dobbs determined if possible to unearth the secret: and this was the third night he had come upon the watch. "But why stand without your boots?" whispered the Squire, who could not get over the shoeless feet. "That I may make no noise in running to pounce upon him, sir," Dobbs whispered back. "I take 'em off and hide 'em in the copse behind here. They be just at your back, Master Johnny." "Pounce upon whom?" demanded the Squire. "Can't you speak plainly?" "That's what I'd like to know," breathed Dobbs. "I feel nearly sure, Squire, that the--the thing looking like Nash Caromel is not Nash Caromel. Nor his ghost, either." "I never saw two faces more alike, and I have just seen it now," put in the Squire. "At least, as much as a shadow can look like a face." "Ay," assented Dobbs. "I'm as sure, sir, as I am of my own forge, that it is a likeness got up by Nave to scare us. And I'll _eat_ the forge," added Dobbs with emphasis, "if there's not something worse than ghosts at Caromel's Farm--though I can't guess what it is." "What a villain he must be: and Nave, too!" cried the Squire, rubbing his red nose, while Tod simply stared at the man. "But, look here, Dobbs--how could any man put on the face of Nash Caromel?" "I don't know how he does it, Squire, or what he does, but I'm good to find out," returned the blacksmith. "And if--just hark there again, sirs!" The same faint sounds of wailing, of entreaty in a woman's voice, rose again upon the air. Dobbs, with a gesture to ask for silence, went noiselessly down the dark path in his brown woollen stockings, that looked thick enough for boots. Tod, eager for any adventure, stole after him, and I brought up the rear. The Squire remained where he was, and held the gate open, expecting perhaps that we might want to make a rush through it as he had just done. Two minutes more, and the mystery was solved. Near the house, under the shade of the closely intersecting trees, stood old Grizzel and the figure people had taken to be the ghost of Nash Caromel. It was Grizzel's voice we heard, full of piteous entreaty to him not to do something. "Just for this night, master, for the love of Heaven! Don't do it, just this night that I'm left in charge! They've trusted me, you see!"