“I don’t think it would do,” deliberated Bywater. “A whole night--twelve hours, that would be--and in a fright all the time, if he _is_ frightened. Look here! I have heard of folks losing their wits through a thing of the sort.” “I won’t go in for anything of the kind,” said Hurst. “Charley’s not a bad lot, and he shan’t be harmed. A bit of a fright, or a bit of a whacking, not too much of either; that’ll be the thing for Miss Channing.” “Tod Yorke, who told you he was afraid of ghosts?” demanded Bywater. “Oh, I know it,” said Tod. “Annabel Channing was telling my sisters about it, for one thing: but I knew it before. We had a servant once who told us so, she had lived at the Channings’. Some nurse frightened him when he was a youngster, and they have never been able to get the fear out of him since.” “What a precious soft youngster he must have been!” said Mr. Bywater. “She used to get a ghost and dress it up and show it off to Miss Charley--” “Get a ghost, Tod?” “Bother! you know what I mean,” said Tod, testily. “Get a broom or something of that sort, and dress it up with a mask and wings: and he is as scared over it now as he ever was. I don’t care what you say.” “Look here!” exclaimed Bywater, starting from his niche, as a bright idea occurred to him. “Let one of us personate a ghost, and appear to him! That would be glorious! It would give him a precious good fright for the time, and no harm done.” If the boys had suddenly found the philosopher’s stone, it could scarcely have afforded them so much pleasure as did this idea. It was received with subdued shouts of approbation: the only murmur of dissent to be heard was from Pierce senior. Pierce grumbled that it would not be “half serving him out.” “Yes, it will,” said Bywater. “Pierce senior shall be the ghost: he tops us all by a head.” “Hurst is as tall as Pierce senior.” “That he is not,” interrupted Pierce senior, who was considerably mollified at the honour being awarded to him. “Hurst is not much above the tips of my ears. Besides, Hurst is fat; and you never saw a fat ghost yet.” “Have you seen many ghosts, Pierce?” mocked Bywater. “A few; in pictures. Wretched old scarecrows they always are, with a cadaverous face and lantern jaws.” “That’s the reason you’ll do so well, Pierce,” said Bywater. “You are as thin as a French herring, you know, with a yard and a half of throat.” Pierce received the doubtful compliment flatteringly, absorbed in the fine vista of mischief opening before him. “How shall I get myself up, Bywater?” asked he, complaisantly. “With horns and a tail?” “Horns and a tail be bothered!” returned Hurst. “It must be like a real ghost, all white and ghastly.” “Of course it must,” acquiesced Bywater.