d your funeral," says John.

"Why, no,--that can't be,--I'm going to yours."

"Heavens!" exclaims John.

"I guess it's a hoax," suggests Philo.

John takes out a letter and reads aloud: "_Philo Avery died last night.
Funeral at ten o'clock to-morrow morning._"

"Just like mine, except the name," says Philo. "So you thought I was a
ghost."

"Didn't know what else you could be. You looked queer enough for one,"
replied John.

"Well, I've lived long enough to see ghosts, but this is the first of
that kind of gentry that ever showed themselves to me," cried Philo,
in his high, cracked voice, and actually convulsed with laughter. John
joined in, and the two ghosts made the whole region alive.

"It must have been somebody that knew about the wills," said John, when
they had grown calm.

"Yes," replied Philo; "and what cursed things they have been?"

"Cursed--for both of us," said John.

"Have you got it along with you?"

"Yes, of course,--have you?" answered John, reddening faintly.

"Why, yes,--and here it goes," cried Philo, with sudden energy, pulling
it out, and shredding it in strips. John was not to be outdone. With
equal eagerness he pulled his out, and, in a few seconds, both the
wills were fluttering in fragments among the elderberry bushes by the
road-side.

"What a contemptible old screw I've been!" exclaimed John,
penitentially, as the insurance table came into his mind.

"No worse than I," said Philo, thinking of all his drudging, grovelling
years.

"Why, do you know I've wished you dead," burst out John.

"Well, suppose you have,--I've done the same by you," answered Philo.

"May God forgive us both."

"_Amen_," said Philo, solemnly.

"And help us in the future," continued John.

"Amen again," said Philo.

The muffled clatter of a horse's hoofs sounded through the fog, and
presently the twinkling face of Jack Niles beamed upon the ghostly
couple. Looking with well simulated astonishment on the group, the
empty gig, and his venerable namesake standing in the middle of the
road, Jack paused and begged to kn