THE LADIES’ FLORAL CABINET. 
325 
kins’ hired man. For Tom’s inexhaustible good-nature 
and cheerfulness were quite irresistible, while his indus¬ 
try and freedom from bad habits or petty meannesses had 
gained for him a considerable degree of respect from his 
townspeople. But Mr. Watkins had a pretty and spirited 
young daughter, Lizzie, now about fifteen years old, who 
had grown up on friendly terms with Tom, and had 
laughed at his mischievous pranks and taken his part 
when others censured him. And as Tom’s attention 
now began to be more than mere neighborliness de¬ 
manded, Mr. Watkins’ parental anxiety was roused to 
such an extent that he forbade all intercourse between 
the women of his household and the Ingalls family. 
Tom still met Lizzie at singing-schools, neighborhood 
parties and other rural gatherings, but as she was usually 
escorted by Horace Scudder she scarcely dared to treat 
Tom with any show of friendliness, well knowing that 
any civility on her part would be reported to her father 
by the watchful Scudder, who had his own designs on 
Lizzie, as she was an only child and would naturally in¬ 
herit her father’s large and valuable farm. But Tom’s 
wit was sometimes a match for Scudder’s watchful per¬ 
tinacity. One day Tom chanced to learn that Lizzie was 
to spend the evening at the Kents’, about a mile away, 
and that her father was to send Scudder for her at nine 
o’clock. That night at supper Tom could not keep his 
face sober. His mother wondered what ailed the boy, 
and Aunt Martha sighed dismally and mentioned the 
whirlwind. But nothing could depress Tom’s spirits, 
and after awhile he went to his room, and coming back 
with a small bundle under his arm, left the house, telling 
his mother not to sit up for him, as he might be out late. 
A few minutes after nine Lizzie Watkins left the Kents’ 
under the escort of her father's hired man, and they had 
walked about a quarter of a mile when they heard a low 
groan by the roadside. They stopped to listen : 
“ What do you suppose it was, Lizzie?” asked Horace, 
nervously. 
“ Some animal, probably,” replied Lizzie, carelessly. 
“Come, don’t stand here.” 
But just then the groan was repeated. It was a blood¬ 
curdling sound, and struck terror to the heart of Horace, 
who was naturally inclined to superstition. 
“ I say, Lizzie, we’ll go back and get Mr. Kent to go 
home with us.” 
“ Before I’d be scared by a noise ! ” exclaimed Lizzie, 
scornfully, “go and look over the fence and see what 
it is; the sound seems to come from that clump of 
bushes just over there.” 
“ I tell you, Lizzie, it isn’t anything mortal that makes 
that noise, and I’m going back for help,” said Horace, 
as the groans continued. 
“And I shall go and look over that fence,” declared 
Lizzie. 
But she was spared the trouble, for at that moment a 
tall figure, robed in a flowing white garment, appeared to 
rise from the ground, and gliding rather than climbing 
over the fence came slowly toward them. Horace gave 
a yell more unearthly than the groans and ran back 
toward the Kent farm, leaving Lizzie to the “ten¬ 
der mercies ” of the “ sheeted dead,” as he supposed. 
“ Oh, Tom ! how dare you ! ’’cried Lizzie, half-choking 
with laughter. But the triumphant ghost had throwm 
himself down on the grass by the roadside and was roll¬ 
ing over and over in spasms of laughter. 
“ Oh, didn’t he scud though! ” cried Lizzie, with a 
fresh outburst, as she looked back over the road where 
her recreant escort had disappeared. 
“Why shouldn’t he scud ? ” demanded Tom, “ he is a 
Scudder, you know—a lively one, too, when he is thor¬ 
oughly scared. Don’t ever call him Horace again, Lizzie. 
Call him Scudder forever ! ” And Tom and Lizzie roared 
in concert. 
The ghost arose, folded his sheet in a bundle, and gave 
Lizzie his arm, saying : 
“ If I find you alone in the middle of the road at this 
time of night, I suppose your father can’t blame me for 
taking you safely home.” 
“We won’t care if he does, Tom,” answered Lizzie, 
with pretty defiance. 
It was late in the autumn and Farmer Watkins had got 
out his sleigh for repairs, and two handsome wolfskin 
robes were hung in the orchard to air, and the family 
went to bed, forgetting to take them in. It was a little 
past ten when Lizzie got home and went up to her room, 
which was over her father’s. He was awakened by the 
sound of her steps and lay awake some time, and was 
dropping off to sleep about eleven when he thought of 
the robes. He got up and went out to get them, but 
they were gone, and he came back, supposing Horace 
had taken them in. In the morning Mr. Watkins asked 
Horace if he took in the sleigh-robes the night before, 
but Horace said he had not thought of them. 
“ Then some scoundrel has stolen them ! ” said Mr. 
Watkins. 
“ Did you know that Tom Ingalls was prowling round 
here last night ? ” asked Horace, suggestively. 
“ No I didn’t; did you see him ? ” 
“ I should think I did. You sent me over to Kent’s to 
bring Lizzie home and he cut in and came home with 
her himself.” 
“ How did that happen ? haven’t you pluck enough to 
hold your own ? ” 
“ I wasn’t going to quarrel with him,” said Scudder, 
evasively, “ but if you don’t want him to run off with 
Lizzie, as well as the sleigh-robes, you had better look 
out. that’s all.” 
“ Confound him ! I wish he was in Jericho with the rest 
of the thieves,” said the irate farmer. 
“ If I were you I would get rid of him some way,” sug¬ 
gested Scudder, who was thirsting for revenge, “ Sup¬ 
pose you charge him with stealing those robes; you 
know his joking way ; he would own to it, likely as not.” 
“ That’s worth thinking of; we’ll make an errand over 
there this noon.” 
About noon, as Tom was busy in the yard, cutting his 
winter’s supply of wood, Watkins and Scudder came 
along, and stopping at the fence the former said : 
“Good morning, Tom; have you seen my steers go 
by ? They’ve strayed off somewhere since chore-time 
this morning.” 
“ No, I’ve not seen them,” replied Tom, answering Mr. 
