Around the walls of a certain old church there stood many Tombs, and these had been there so long that the plaster with which their lids were fastened down had dried and crumbled, so that in most of them there were long cracks under their lids, and out of these the ghosts of the people who had been buried in the tombs were in the habit of escaping at night.
This had been going on for a long time, and at the period of our story, the tombs were in such bad state that every night the church was so filled with ghosts that before day-light one of the sacristans was obliged to come into the church and sprinkle holy water everywhere. This was done to clear the church of ghosts before the first service began, and who does not know that if a ghost is sprinkled with holy water it shrivels up? This first service was attended almost exclusively by printers on their way home from their nightly labours on the journals of the town.
The tomb which had the largest crack under its lid belonged to a bishop who had died more than a hundred years before, and who had a great reputation for sanctity; so much so, indeed, that people had been in the habit of picking little pieces of plaster from under the lid of his tomb and carrying them away as holy relics to prevent diseases and accidents.
This tomb was more imposing than the others, and stood upon a pedestal, so that the crack beneath its lid was quite
plain to view, and remarks had been made about having it repaired.
Very early one morning, before it was time for the first service, there came into the church a poor mason. His wie had recently recovered from a service sickness, and he was deestone of making an offering to the church. But having no money to spare, he had determined that he would repair the bishop's tomb, and he consequently came to do this before his regular hours df work began
All the ghosts were our of their combs at the time, but the were gathered together in the other end of the church, and the mason did not see them, nor did they notice him and he immediately went to work. He had brought some plaster and trowel, and it was not long before the crack under the lid of the tomb was entirely filled up, and the plaster made as smooth and neat as when the tomb was new.
When his work was finished, the mason left the church by the little side door which had given him entrance.
Not ten minutes afterwards the sacristan came in to sprinkle the church with holy water. Instantly the ghosts began to scatter right and left, and to slip into their tombs as quickly as possible but when the ghost of the good bishop reached his comb, he found it impossible to get in. He went around and around it but nowhere could he find the least little chink by which he could enter. The sacristan was walking along the other side of the church scattering holy water, and in great trepidation the bishop's ghost hastened from tomb to tomb, hoping to find one which was unoccupied into which he could slip before the sprinkling began on that side of the church. He soon came to one which he thought might be empty, but he discovered to his consternation that it was occupied by the ghost of a young gin who had died of love.
"Alas! alas!" exclaimed the bishop's ghost. "How unluck who would have supposed this to be your tomb?
"It is the tomb of Sir Geoffrey of the Marle, who was killed in the battle two centuries ago. I am told that it has been empty for a long time, for his ghost has gone to Castle Marle. Not long ago I came into the church, and finding this tomb unoccupied, I settled here."
"Ah, me!" said the bishop's ghost, "the sacristan will soon be round here with holy water. Could not you get out and go to your own tomb; where is that?"
"Alas, good father”, said the ghost of the young girl, "I have no tomb; I was buried plainly in the group, and I do not know that I could find the place again. But I have no right to keep you out of this tomb, good father; it is as much yours as it is mine. So I will come out and let you enter; truly you are in great danger. As for me, it does not matter very much whether am sprinkled or not." I
So the ghost of the young girl slipped out of Sir Geoffrey's tomb, and the bishop's ghost slipped in, but not a minute before the sacristan had reached the place. The ghost of the young girl flittered from one pillar to another until it came near to the door, and there it paused, thinking what it should do next. Even if it could find the grave from which it had come, it did not want to go back to such a place; it liked churches better.
Soon the printers began to come in for the early morning service. One of them was very sad, and there were tears in his cyes. He was a young man, not long married, and his child, a baby girl, was so sick that he scarcely expected to find it alive when he should reach home that morning.
The ghost of the young girl was attracted by the sorrowful printer, and when the service was over and he had left the church it followed him, keeping itself unseen. The printer found his wife in tears; the poor little baby was very low. It lay upon the bed, its eyes shut, its face pale and pinched, gasping for breath.
The mother was obliged to leave the room for a few moments to attend to some household affair, and her husband followed
to comfort her, and when they were gone, the ghost of the girl approached the bed and looked down on the little baby. was nearer death than its parents supposed, and scarcely had they gone before it drew its last breath.
The ghost of the young girl bowed its head; it was filled with pity and sympathy for the printer and his wife; in an instant, however, it was seized with an idea, and in the next instant it had acted upon it. Scarcely had the spirit of the little baby left its body, the spirit of the young girl entered it.
Now a gentle warmth suffused the form of the little child, a natural colour came into its cheeks, it breathed quietly and regularly, and when the printer and his wife came back, they found their baby in a healthful sleep. As they stood amazed at the change in the countenance of the child, it opened its eyes and smiled upon them.
"The crisis is past!" cried the mother, "She is saved; and it is all because you stopped at the church instead of hurrying home, as you wished to do." The ghost of the young girl knew that this was true, and the baby smiled again.
It was eighteen years later that the printer's baby had grown into a beautiful young woman. From her early childhood she had been fond of visiting the church, and would spend hours among the tombs reading the inscriptions, and sometimes sitting by them, especially by the tomb of Sir Geoffrey of the Marle. There, when there was nobody by, she used to talk with the bishop's ghost.
Late one afternoon, she came to the tomb with a happy smile on her face. "Holy father", she said, speaking softly through the crack, "are you not tired of staying so long in this tomb which is not your own?"
"Truly I am, daughter”, said the bishop's ghost, "but I have no right to complain: I never come back here in the carly morning without a feeling of the warnest gratitude to you for having given me a place of refuge. My greatest trouble is caused
By the feat that the ghost of Sir Geoffrey of the Market some time choose to rerum. In that case I must give up to him his tomb. And then, where, oh where shall I pp
"Holy father", whispered the girl, "do not trouble you , ou shall have your own tomb again and need fear no one How is that? exclaimed the bishop's ghost. "Tell me quickly, daughter."
This is the way of it." replied the young girl. "When the mason plastered up the crack under the lid of your comb he seems to have been very careful about the front part of it, but he didn't take much pains with the back where his work wasn't likely to be seen, so that there the palster has crumbled and loosened very much, and with a long pin from my hair I have picked out ever so much of it, and now there is a great crack at the back of the tomb where you can go in and come out, just as casily as you ever did. As soon as night shall fall you can leave this tomb and go into your own."
The bishop's ghost could scarcely speak for thankful emotions, and the happy young girl went home to the house of her father, a prosperous man, now the head-printer of the town.
The next evening the young girl went to the church and hurried to the bishop's tomb. Therein she found the bishop's ghost, happy and contended.
Sitting on a stone projection at the back of the tomb, she had a long conversation with the bishop's ghost, which, in gratitude for what she had done, gave her all manner of good advice and counsel. "Above all things, my dear daughter," said the bishop's ghost, "do not repeat your first mistake: promise me that never will you die of love."
The young girl smiled, "Fear not. good father", she replied. "When I died of love, I was, in body and soul, but eighteen years old, and knew no better; now, although my body is but eighteen, my soul is thirty-six. Fear not, never again shall I die of love."