Natural I see nothing in the burying-ground, yet at
the end of town I was still uneasy-like, though half laughing at myself.
It was so quiet; not a light burned anywhere, and the square seemed
lonelier than the cemetery, and the store was so deserted, so ghostly in
the moonlight, that I just couldn't keep from peering around at it.

Then, from the empty porch, from the empty bench--empty, I swear, for I
could see plain, so clear was the night--from absolute nothing come as
pleasant a voice as ever I hear.

"Hello!" it says.

My blood turned icy-like and the chills waved up and down all through
me. I couldn't move.

The voice came again, so natural, so familiar, that I warmed some, and
rubbed my eyes and stared.

There, sitting on the bench, in his favorite place, was the late Robert
J. Dinkle, gleaming in the moonlight, the front door showing right
through him.

"I must appear pretty distinct," he says in a proud-like way. "Can't you
see me very plain?"

See him plain! I should think so. Even the patches on his coat was
visible, and only for the building behind him, he never looked more
natural, and hearing him so pleasant, set me thinking. This, says I, is
the sperrit of the late Robert J. Dinkle. In life he never did me any
harm and in his present misty condition is likely to do less; if he is
looking for trouble I'm not afraid of a bit of fog. Such being the case,
I says, I shall address him as soon as I am able.

But Robert got tired waiting, and spoke again in an anxious tone, a
little louder, and ruther complaining, "Don't I show up good?" says he.

"I never see you looking better," I answered, for my voice had came
back, and the chills were quieter, and I was fairly ca'm and dared even
to move a little nearer.

A bright smile showed on his pale face. "It is a relief to be seen at
last," he cried, most cheerful. "For years I've been trying to do a
little ha'nting around here, and no one would notice me. I used to think
mebbe my material was too delicate and gauzy, but I've conceded that,
after all, the stuff is not to blame."

He heaved a sigh so natural that I forgot all about his being a ghost.
Indeed, taken all in all, I see that he had improved, was solemner, had
a sweeter expression and wasn't likely to give in to his old prepensity
for joshing.

"Set down and we will talk it over," he went on most winning. "Really, I
can't do any harm, but please be a little afraid and then I will show up
di