CAPTURED BY THE GHOSTS.

THE first things that Davey dimly realised, were that the shutter in the rock doorway was thrown down inwards with a loud crash, and that he himself was being lifted by a pair of strong arms, as though he were a baby.

A moment later, he became conscious that he was set down in front of a big wood fire, and that several pairs of eyes were regarding him. His own wandered round bewildered at the suddenness of what had befallen him. He could hardly persuade himself that he was not in a dream, and he half fancied that he should wake up presently and find himself in his little cell in the outer chamber of Hoyle's Mouth.

"Now then, young shaver, when you're quite sure you'll know us all again next time you see us, perhaps you'll turn this way."

It was the big bass voice that spoke, and hearing it again, Davey felt quite sure that the mighty arms that had lifted him with such ease belonged to that voice. He pulled himself together, stood up straight, and tried to collect his thoughts.

"I'll answer any questions you please to ask me, sir," said he, "but I'd like to know what's become of Tom. Where's Tom, sir?"

The great big man with the deep bass voice gave a laugh that matched the rest of him.

"Come, come," said he, "you tell me you're ready to answer questions, and then, you young monkey, before I can get breath to ask you one, you begin to question me."

"Yes, sir," replied Davey; "I couldn't think what had become of Tom."

"And who may Tom be, my young man?"

"He's the boy that was with me looking in here when—when I sneezed, sir, and—and—the shutter fell down. We've been living together in the first cave."

"And how came you there?"

"We'd run away from home, sir, and we were mixed up in some—some scrapes that made us want to hide. And as we'd no money, we looked about for a place to sleep in, where we wouldn't have to pay rent, and we found Hoyle's Mouth, sir."

"Well, and how did you like it?"

"Not over well, sir."

"Ah, damp and cold, eh?"

"It wasn't so much that, sir, as that it was such a terrible ghosty place."

At this statement, made in all possible simplicity, a regular burst of laughter went round, beginning with the big-voiced man.

"That's good to hear, captain, ain't it?" said a rough-looking sailor, with a shaggy red head and beard. "It's always a satisfaction to know you've done what you tried to do."

Davey looked round the little group, and found the laughter rather infectious.

"Oh yes, I see now, of course," said he, chuckling a little hysterically. "It was all of you that did the noises we heard to-night?"

The big man addressed as captain nodded. "Yes," said he, "but if it's to bring folks ghost hunting, we'd better stop it."

"I wonder," said Davey, thoughtfully, "if you had anything to do with a dream, or ghost, or something that frightened me the other night?"

"Tell us what you saw," said the captain.

"Well," said Davey, "I thought I woke up in the night and saw a tall figure in black, with a burning torch in its hand, and it half cried and half sang some words as it stood by me."

"Can you remember the words?" asked a young man, with a very pale face and sad expression.

"I can remember some of them; they was something like these," said Davey:

"'Woe to the evil-doers! And to them that lead the young astray. Behold, I am seeking, but I find him not—that son, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.'

"There was some more, but I've forgot them."

There was silence for a moment or two, then Davey said, "Was it a dream, please, sir, or did any of you do it?"

But the captain did not at once reply. His eyes were fixed upon the young fellow who sat near him, and who had asked Davey the last question. The youth had covered his pale, sad face with both his thin hands, and was sitting silent, with bowed head.

"No, my lad," he said at last, "that wasn't our doing; most likely it was a dream. But now let's—"

Just then there was a sound of footsteps and voices, and a man in sailor's clothes entered, dragging by the collar Tom Hughes.

"Ah, Ben!" cried the captain. "So you've got him?"

"Ay, sir, and a tough job I've had, too," replied Ben, a tall, muscular fellow, with a stubbly beard growing round his cheeks and chin. "For of all the artful, slippery, dodging sarpints, this lad's the worst. And but for his not knowing all the ins and outs of the caves and passages as well as me, in the dark, he'd have won clear at last, spite of all I could do."

"Well, as you've got me now," said Tom, sullenly, "and I'm not going to run away again just this minute—seeing that I'm out of breath—you might stop choking a fellow, I think."

"So this is the companion you were inquiring about, my lad?" said the captain to Davey. "Well, I wish you joy of him! Now then, you, Tom what's your name, I want your story! Speak up like a man, and try to tell the truth, though that'll be a hard matter I fancy, from the look of you."

Thus encouraged, Tom, always glib of tongue, began, nothing loth, one of his harrowing tales, which had so often drawn, as by magic, the coins from the pockets of kindly, credulous folks. But he had not gone far before an uproarious laugh rang echoing through the cave; and the captain said—

"That won't do, my man! Try again."

Nothing abashed, Tom recommenced on an entirely different tack. But once more he was unceremoniously stopped, just as he was describing in detail a pathetic conversation between himself and a wicked stepmother (conjured into existence for the occasion), whom his patience and goodness (according to his own modest account) at last melted to tears of repentance.

"Thank you! This is wonderful interesting, but not at all what we want," said the captain, with a warning note in his voice, like a roll of a big bass drum. "I see it's no use going to you for the truth; you don't keep it in stock."

"Well then," retorted Tom, as impudent as ever, "if you've done with me, maybe you'll let me go. I'm not at all anxious to stay here," he added in a stagey voice, "having duties that calls me elsewhere."

"I'm sorry to stand in the way of such duties as yours must be," said the captain, grimly, "but I have my ideas of duty too. However, as I'd be glad to be quit of you for half an hour or so, while I talk with the small boy—here, Ben, just take this Tom out, and put him in the safe for a bit."

"The safe?" repeated Tom, trying to hide his fear and anxiety by speaking in a mocking, jeering tone—"I must be a precious treasure indeed, if you've got to keep me in a safe."

"And so you are, my boy," replied Ben, "you are indeed—a precious treasure—dear, I should say, at any price."

"You're not going to put Tom away in an iron box, are you, sir?" asked Davey, as Tom was dragged out, kicking and struggling.

"No, no; of course not. It's only a cave that we call a safe, because, having only one entrance, we can make it quite secure. But now, youngster, you haven't told me your name."

"Davey Coleman, sir."

"And you come from?"

"A village near Bristol."

Then, encouraged by the captain's kindly manner, Davey began at the beginning, and told his story, hiding none of his own grievous faults, but giving the whole truth quite simply, and without even excusing himself. And the captain and his men listened attentively, only asking a brief question now and again.

At last Davey finished by adding confidingly, "And now, please, sir, do you think you could put me in the way of getting home again? For that's what I want to do. My uncle and aunt must be very anxious about me."

The captain shook his head, with an odd smile, and one of the men said—

"My heart alive! What does he take us for?"

"Not for what we are!" said the young fellow with the sad face. "Be sure of that."

"No! Johnnie," responded the captain, "that remains for him to learn."