SKELE TON-LIFTING. \ 89 



own grave, and once, imagining an approach, I 

 lay full length by the side of my fleshless friend. 

 The day of my rejoicing had come, it is true, but 

 there proved to be an overabundance of thorns 

 with the rose. Here was the long-coveted skele- 

 ton ; but within hearing, in the adjoining field, 

 was a burly farmer, passing to and fro with his 

 plow. Whenever he came near, the grinning 

 skull grew pale, as though it, too, feared discov- 

 ery; and so, until the dinner-horn sounded 

 across-lots, I was held a prisoner. How anx- 

 iously did I listen for retreating steps and the rat- 

 tling of the unloosened plow-chains ! welcome 

 sounds that came at last, assuring me that the 

 coast was clear. Then, leaving the treasure to 

 the kindly sun that was rapidly warming it to 

 hardness, I sped dinnerward. 



The Fates were intolerably cruel that day. 

 At sunset, when I purposed to return, innumer- 

 able obstacles loomed up, and every excuse to 

 run away from company that had most inoppor- 

 tunely arrived was pooh-poohed by madam, in 

 a most meaning manner ; and it was just mid- 

 night when the open grave was reached. The 

 full moon at that moment broke through the 

 clouds, and a flood of pallid light filled the spot 

 when I shook hands with the fleshless warrior 

 and forced myself to return the ghastly grin of 

 his angular countenance. There was something 



