To oblige a former cook we had brought down with us as
stable-boy her son, George Sims, an imp accustomed to be the pet and
jester of a mews. Martyn was only too fond of his company, and he
made no secret of his contempt for the insufferable dulness of the
country, enlivening it by various acts of monkey-mischief, in some
of which Martyn had been implicated. That very afternoon, as Mrs.
Sophia Selby was walking home in the twilight from Chapman's lodge,
in company with Mr. Henderson, an eldritch yell proceeding from the
vaults beneath the mullion chambers nearly frightened her into fits.
Henderson darted in and captured the two boys in the fact. Martyn's
asseveration that he had taken the pair for Griff and Emily would
have pacified the good-natured clergyman, but Mrs. Sophia was too
much agitated, or too spiteful, as we declared, not to make a scene.
Martyn spent the evening alone and in disgrace, and only his
unimpeachable character for truth caused the acceptance of his
affirmation that the yell was an impromptu fraternal compliment, and
that he had nothing to do with the noises in the mullion chamber.
He had been supposed to be perfectly unconscious of anything of the
kind, and to have never so much as heard of a phantom, so my mother
was taken somewhat aback when, in reply to her demand whether he had
ever been so naughty as to assist George in making a noise in
Clarence's room, he said, 'Why, that's the ghost of the lady that
was murdered atop of the steps, and always walks every Christmas!'
'Who told you such ridiculous nonsense?'
The answer 'George' was deemed conclusive that all had been got up
by that youth; and there was considerable evidence of his talent for
ventriloquism and taste for practical jokes.
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