a gloom over the whole affair.

"Oh, I'm getting sick of this old fool," said the Pater, one
evening (the Dad can be very blunt, when he is put out, as you
know), after Johnson had been more of a nuisance than usual, and
had spoiled a good game of whist, by sitting up the chimney and
groaning, till nobody knew what were trumps or what suit had been
led, even. "We shall have to get rid of him, somehow or other. I
wish I knew how to do it."

"Well," said the Mater, "depend upon it, you'll never see the last
of him until he's found Emily's grave. That's what he is after.
You find Emily's grave, and put him on to that, and he'll stop
there. That's the only thing to do. You mark my words."

The idea seemed reasonable, but the difficulty in the way was that
we none of us knew where Emily's grave was any more than the ghost
of Johnson himself did. The Governor suggested palming off some
other Emily's grave upon the poor thing, but, as luck would have
it, there did not seem to have been an Emily of any sort buried
anywhere for miles round. I never came across a neighbourhood so
utterly destitute of dead Emilies.

I thought for a bit, and then I hazarded a suggestion myself.

"Couldn't we fake up something for the old chap?" I queried. "He
seems a simple-minded old sort. He might take it in. Anyhow, we
could but try."

"By Jove, so we will," exclaimed my father; and the very next