Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 December 1892 — THE GHOST CHIMES. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE GHOST CHIMES.

I IVE minutes to 12— less t h a n a quarter of an . hour more, and |the Christmas tghost chimes will Lbegfn 16 ring!” & Nina Beverly Jstood watching lithe clock in the [ witlrlra eager, exI pectant face as [she spoke. Her I mother anxiously } added: “Dear boys! I

am sorry I consented to their going. The storm is rising; it is a dark, dreary walk, and after the trouble about Oscar, I am nervous for them. ” ' Oscar, her nephew, was the one spot of gloom haunting an otherwise bright and glowing Christmas eve. He had been staying at the Beverly home for some weeks, and he and her hoys, Norman and Boh, had got on together like tried brothers. Three nights previous, however, a youthful escapade among the apple bins in Farmer. Drew’s ham had led to the capture of Osqar. The irate

farmer had administered a flogging. The hot-tempered Oscar had rejoined his cousins smarting from the lashes, sullen, resentful, uncommunicative, except to burst out that he would “get even with that old curmudgeon if it took him ten yeifrs!” The next morning. Oscar was found missing. His bed had not been slept in; an open window showed how he had left the house. His mysterious disappearance could be explained in only one way; he shrank from the humiliation of his punishment, and had left for his home surreptitiously. Oscar had missed a great treat in leaving so abruptly, Norman and Bob had told their mother that afternoon. They and half a dozen boon companions were going up to Hemlock Hill that night to ring the ghost chimes. What an inspiring jaunt poor Oscar had lost through his folly! The “ghost chimes” were quite an institution with Fairfield boys. Years before a wealthy gentleman had built a church at Hemlock Hill. For a time it was the general place of worship of the district. Then Fairfield became the populated center, new churches nearer home attracted the people, trie Hill temple fell into disuse, abd then decay, and now, windowless, dborless, a mournful ruin, it was given over to bats and owls. One Christmas eve, four years agone, the villagers had been startled from midnight sleep by the chimes of the old tower pealing out sweetly the dawn of another Christmas morn. The mysterious ringers were never traced. Boyish gossip discerned a ghostly hand in the occurrence, and since then, at every recurring Christmas eve, it was considered an act of royal daring to visit the distant ruin, On this venture, Norman, Bob and six doughty companions had departed an hour since, and, with a fond mother’s anxiety, Mrs. Beverly and Nina were counting the minutes ticked slowly away by the clock. Midnight! Strange! The chimes were not forthcoming, the boys were not on time.

The little group of adventurers had reached the vicinity of Hemlock Hill without accident, in the meantime. “This is the wildest night we ever came here, Bob,” remarked Norman. “Whew! that blast cuts like a knife. In with you, boys, to shelter!” “Who's got the time?” sang out Bob, as he clambered up the ladder. Norman answered from below by flaring a match and examining his timepiece. “One minute of midnight, Bob,” he gang out. “Up with you, boys! Barely on time, we'll ring* out a tune toaigbt that will wake up the sleepers.”

All gained the second floor. An ejaculation of concern rang from Bob% lips as he groped about blindly. “Boys!” he gasped, “it’s no use!” “Eh?” echoed Norman. “What now?” “The rope! It ain’t here. Wo can’t ring, because it's gone!” Ding-dong! “Mercy!” There was a scramble for tlie flddder, and exclamations of affright. “We’ve struck it at last!” groaned a hollow voice. “Struck what?” demanded Bob. “The ghosts! They’re here—the’ve stolen the rope—they're ringing the chimes themselves —hear them! Oh, my!”< panted the affrighted youth. Whiz—bang! Something went hurt ling past Bob’s head, and he ducked unceremoniously. From above, at. that moment, sounded a deep, sepulchral voice. “Avaunt! get out! get out!” “Throwing things—talking Shak speare!” muttered Bob, suspiciously, as his companions basely deserted him for the floor below. “Beal ghosts don’t doit. I’m coming up after you.” Dauntless Bob grasped the ladder running up ip the belfry. Those below held their breath. There was a lapse of excruciating silence, then half-audible tones in apparent conversation, and then a scrambling down Norman had lighted a bit of candle he had found in his pocket. As its rays Illumined the aperture near the ladder, he saw two forms clamber into view. m “I’ve found the ghost!’’ 1 announced Bob Beverly in excited triumph. “Oscar!” gasped Norman, staring vaguely at his brother’s companion. “Yes, Oscar, it is, sure and true,” responded Bob, energetically. “What does it mean?” murmured

the boys, crowding about the pale and shrinking Oscar. “It means that Oscar has been laboring under a mistake,” Bob. “He was mad at old farmer Drew for horsewhipping him, and left our house to tip over his feed troughs and set his cider butts running, out of revenge. Bad work, I’ll confess. Just as he got to Drew’s barn that night he lit a match and it fell among a heap oj straw. He couldn’t put it out, got scared, and ran. He could see the glare and supposed he had burned Drew out, house and baggage. He’s been hiding in the old church here ever since, and he tried to scare us away to-night.” “And all the fire did was to burn over an old stubble field!” exclaimed Noiman. “Exactly. Come, Oscar All pheer up. You say you’ve suffered! a penitent during your two starving and freezing, and I .guess that atones for the hot-headel mischief you never intended to do. ” “It’s taught me a lesson, all the same,” murmured Oscar humbly. Christmas chimes did not ring that night from the old church tower, but Christmas joy was not lacking in motherly Mrs. Beverly’s heart as she welcomed home the penitent prodigal. Victor Radcliff.

“FIVE MINUTES TO TWELVE."