166 Tom Sawyer, Detective
but just our hearts. We was thinking of that awful thing laying yonder in the sycamores, and it seemed like being that close to a ghost, and it give me the cold shudders. The moon come a-swelling up out of the ground, now, powerful big and round and bright, behind a comb of trees, like a face looking through prison bars, and the black shadders and white places begun to creep around, and it was miserable quiet and still and night-breezy and graveyardy and scary. All of a sudden Tom whispers:
" Look!—what's that?"
"Don't!" I says. "Don't take a person by surprise that way. I'm 'most ready to die, anyway, without you doing that."
"Look, I tell you. It's something coming out of the sycamores."
"It's terrible tall!"
"Oh, lordy-lordy! let's—"
" Keep still — it's a-coming this way."
He was so excited he could hardly get breath enough to whisper. I had to look. I couldn't help it. So now we was both on our knees with our chins on a fence rail and gazing — yes, and gasping, too. It was coming down the road — coming in the shadder of the trees, and you couldn't see it good; not till it was pretty close to us; then it stepped into a bright splotch of moonlight and we sunk right down in our tracks — it was Jake Dunlap's ghost! That was what we said to ourselves.