WHO WAS THE GHOST?

IN the course of the next few days, during which Johnnie and Davey were much thrown together, the former related his story—a story which explained all that was mysterious about the wandering ghost of Hoyle's Mouth; a tale so very sad, that Davey ceased to wonder at the expression of the young man's face.

Johnnie's father—George Grey—had been a bad man, who, after a wild life, had at last died in prison, leaving nothing but debts behind him. His widow and son set to work to try to pay these debts, but their joint earnings hardly did more than enable them to live. Then the poor woman was taken ill with brain fever and removed to a hospital, where she remained for many weeks. When she recovered, her mind and body were alike so sadly weakened, that she was unable any longer to work for a living.

It was just at this time of trouble that the proprietor and captain of the schooner "Dart" offered to Johnnie Grey a berth on board his vessel. And when the young man answered that his object, if he changed his employment at all, would be only to increase his earnings, and that his wages as a sailor would be no more than he was making at present, Captain Smythe (who had known Johnnie for some time, and liked him) hinted that there was other money coming in, as the sailors, one and all, were entitled to a percentage on the profits of certain goods. The captain did not openly speak of smuggling as a part of his business, but his hints were so broad, that Johnnie could not mistake them.

For a time the youth hesitated to enter upon what he rightly guessed was an unlawful and a dishonest calling. But at last the thought of being able to keep his mother in some sort of comfort, and perhaps even to pay his father's debts, induced him to join the smuggler band. This, of course, necessitated his separating from his mother, and seeing her only now and then: and the parting from her son and from the home where they had lived together, seemed to give the last blow to a mind already shattered. She became quite crazy, being under the delusion that Johnnie had been enticed away by the evil companions who had helped to ruin her husband.

In her madness, she was always looking for him, especially in any out-of-the-way places, where she thought he might be hiding. And, indeed, it startled Johnnie sometimes to find that, mad as she was, an inkling of the truth appeared now and again to flash across her poor, darkened consciousness. Johnnie had placed her with her brother and his wife, but she often wandered away in her strange quest, and gave a good deal of trouble to those in charge of her.

It was in spite of the warnings of his conscience that Johnnie had joined Captain Smythe's band, and since doing so he had never been able to regain his peace of mind. He had known well enough that he was doing wrong, and, though he did evil that good might come, the evil was there present with him all the time, while the good had proved to be more than doubtful.

Bound hand and foot by his vows to the smuggler band, he was not able personally to look after his mother's well-being, and he never was happy about her, for he could not be sure that his aunt was always kind to her, or that the poor woman received all the attention and the little comforts for which he paid.

In the eyes of the world Johnnie was simply one of the sailors belonging to the schooner "Dart," as smart a little trading vessel as was ever seen in or out of Carmarthen Bay. The young fellow, too, was supposed to live on board the ship, unless, indeed, as happened sometimes, the captain sent him on shore to help Ben Rait in delivering goods.

As for Ben himself, it was easier for him. He had a home at Penally, and his wife was in the secret and helped him. Ben was the captain's oldest hand and confidant, and to him was intrusted the greater portion of the smuggled goods, which he disposed of in various directions with much skill and secrecy, handing over the proceeds to Captain Smythe, who made a fair division of the profits, giving to each man his share.

These, with many other particulars of the smugglers' life and work, Davey came to know; and the more he heard, the more he felt convinced that this life was not for him, and that sooner or later he must separate himself from company and associations so dangerous both to soul and body.

Meanwhile, however, he was living quietly with Johnnie in the cave, seeing no one else but Ben, and him only occasionally. He had not once, so far, been asked to do anything against his sense of right, but had only helped with the little everyday duties of keeping things clean in the cave, cooking the simple meals, or in the evenings gathering drift-wood which was washed up the creek sometimes in considerable quantities, and when dried made bright fires, and had the advantage of costing nothing.

Davey was the more restful and content during this quiet time spent in the cave for the relief of being separated from Tom, whose presence had become intolerable to him. That wrong-doing brings its own punishment, Davey had proved to his cost. His wilful and disobedient choice of a companion when he ran away to the fair at Bristol had become a daily chastisement to him, and was, moreover, a warning ever before his eyes, showing him how utterly hateful sin could make a soul and body, and to what he himself might come if he indulged in wrong-doing.

But an end to the lad's quiet and peace was at hand.

One night Ben came in to say that the "Dart" was riding at anchor just under Caldy Island, and would be coming up with the tide and unloading some of her cargo in Tenby harbour next morning. This would not take long, but she had one or two other places to call at, after which she was to return to the Caldy anchorage for the night. Thence a boat would be sent across between ten and twelve, with such contraband goods as the "Dart" had brought.

Captain Smythe had invited two coastguards-men, whose stations were on the cliff not far from the creek, to sup with him at the "Family Coach," just outside Penally, so the coast would be clear, and the boat might steal up the creek unobserved, and discharge at the platform in perfect safety.

When the purposes of the captain's hospitality had been served, and the goods safely stowed in the cave, he said good-night to his guests, found his way down to the shore, and gave the cry of the night-hawk as a signal that he was ready for his boat. In a few moments, the boat appeared round a rocky point, and the men pulled in for him, and then headed for the creek, landing him at the back door of Hoyle's Mouth.

"I've only a few minutes to stay," said Captain Smythe, as he came upon Johnnie and Davey, who had been helping Ben to stow away goods, "but I wanted just to tell you that we're sailing again in a very few days' time, and that you're both to go with us this voyage. But meanwhile, Davey, I've a little errand for you."

"Yes, sir," replied Davey; "I'll be very glad indeed, sir, provided—"

"Provided what?" questioned the captain, a little roughly.

Davey made an effort, and spoke out manfully. "Provided, sir, it ain't anything that will make me wish afterwards I hadn't done it."

"I'm the judge of that," said the captain, curtly. "Now hear what I've got to say."