So he pa gwine whop him fo’ tellin’ a fib ’bout dey ain’ no ghosts whin yiver’body know’ dey is ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house, she tek’ note de hair ob li’l’ black Mose’s head am plumb white, an’ she tek’ note li’l’ black Mose’s face am de color ob wood-ash, so she jes retch’ one arm round dat li’l’ black boy, an’ she jes snuggle’ him up, an’ she say’: “Honey lamb, don’t you be skeered; ain’ nobody gwine hurt you. How you know dey ain’t no ghosts?” An’ li’l’ black Mose he kinder lean’ up ’g’inst de school-teacher whut board at Unc’ Silas Diggs’s house, an’ he ’low’: “’Ca’se--’ca’se--’ca’se I met de cap’n ghost, an’ I met de gin’ral ghost, an’ I met de king ghost, an’ I met all de ghostes whut yiver was in de whole worl’, an’ yivery ghost say’ de same thing: ’Dey ain’t no ghosts.’ An’ if de cap’n ghost an’ de gin’ral ghost an’ de king ghost an’ all de ghostes in de whole worl’ don’ know ef dar am ghostes, who does?” “Das right; das right, honey lamb,” say’ de school-teacher. And she say’: “I been s’picious dey ain’ no ghostes dis long whiles, an’ now I know. Ef all de ghostes say dey ain’ no ghosts, dey _ain’_ no ghosts.” So yiver’body ’low’ dat so ’cep’ Zack Badget, whut been tellin’ de ghost-tale, an’ he ain’ gwine say “Yis” an’ he ain’ gwine say “No,” ’ca’se he right sweet on de school-teacher; but he know right well he done seen plinty ghostes in he day. So he boun’ to be sure fust. So he say’ to li’l’ black Mose: “’T ain’ likely you met up wid a monstrous big ha’nt what live’ down de lane whut he name Bloody Bones?” “Yas,” say’ li’l’ black Mose; “I done met up wid him.” “An’ did old Bloody Bones done tol’ you dey ain’ no ghosts?” say Zack Badget. “Yas,” say’ li’l’ black Mose, “he done tell me perzackly dat.” “Well, if _he_ tol’ you dey ain’t no ghosts,” say’ Zack Badget, “I got to ’low dey ain’t no ghosts, ’ca’se he ain’ gwine tell no lie erbout it. I know dat Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an’ I done met up wif him a powerful lot o’ times, an’ he ain’ gwine tell no lie erbout it. Ef dat perticklar ghost say’ dey ain’t no ghosts, dey _ain’t_ no ghosts.” So yiver’body say’: “Das right; dey ain’ no ghosts.” An’ dat mek’ li’l’ black Mose feel mighty good, ’ca’se he ain’ lak ghostes. He reckon’ he gwine be a heap mo’ comfortable in he mind sence he know’ dey ain’ no ghosts, an’ he reckon’ he ain’ gwine be skeered of nuffin’ never no more. He ain’ gwine min’ de dark, an’ he ain’ gwine min’ de rain-doves whut go’, “Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!” an’ he ain’ gwine min’ de owls whut go’, “Who-_whoo_-o-o-o!” an’ he ain’ gwine min’ de wind whut go’, “You-_you_-o-o-o!” nor nuffin’, nohow. He gwine be brave as a lion, sence he know’ fo’ sure dey ain’ no ghosts. So prisintly he ma say’: “Well, time fo’ a li’l’ black boy whut he name is Mose to be gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed.”