THAT AWFUL GHOST.
The ghost about which I shall speak is probably the most blood-curdling and terror-inspiring ghost ever seen; at least that was what my two boy friends and I thought as we came scampering through a field, falling over stones and stumps, plunging headlong into thickets and yelling at the top of our voices.
The way it all came about was this: It was early in June. We had started out in the afternoon to go trouting in the pretty little mountain stream that comes dashing down from the side of the Ossipee range and empties into Winnipisseo Lake at Melvin village.
So exciting had the sport been that we kept on, following the stream far up the mountain, and it was not until near sunset that it occurred to any of us that it was time to start for home.
"I say, Jerry," shouted Bill my friend, "the sun isn't more than an hour high, and there's a fog rising down there on the lake. If you two don't want to stay out in the woods all night, you'd better be making tracks."
"All right," answered Jerry, "I'm ready when you are; but isn't it rough to have to give it up now? How hungry I-am. Seems to me I could eat one of those trout raw; and it will be two hours and a half or three hours before we can get home, too."
"Oh! you needn't eat raw fish. 'Twon't take but a few minutes to cook some."
Dry wood was gathered and a bright fire started. Meanwhile Jack had cleaned half a dozen good-sized trout, and spread them open, placing them on a sort of gridiron made of green branches. Then raking over the fire he put them on the glowing coals. Pretty soon the fish began to sizzle and when they were browned on one side they were turned
