"Impossible," I explained; but upon applying my ear, sure enough, tick! tick! tick! The ticking was there.
Recovering myself the best way I might, I demanded the bug.
"Bug?" screamed Julia, "Good heavens, papa!"
"I hope sir, you have been bringing no bugs into this house," said my wife, severely.
"The bug, the bug!" I cried; "the bug under the tumbler."
"Bugs in tumblers!" cried the girls; "not our tumblers, papa? You have not been putting bugs into our tumblers? Oh, what does—what does it all mean?"
"Do you see this hole, this crack here?" said I, putting my finger on the spot.
"That I do," said my wife, with high displeasure. "And how did it come there? What have you been doing to the table?"
"Do you see this crack?" repeated I, intensely.
"Yes, yes," said Julia; "that was what frightened me so; it looks so like witch-work."
"Spirits! spirits!" cried Anna.
"Silence!" said my wife. "Go on, sir, and tell us what you know of the crack."
"Wife and daughters," said I, solemnly, "out of that crack, or hole, while I was sitting all alone here last night, a wonderful—"
Here, involuntarily, I paused, fascinated by the expectant attitudes and bursting eyes of Julia and Anna.
"What, what?" cried Julia.
"A bug, Julia."
"Bug?" cried my wife. "A bug come out of this table? And what did you do with it?"
"Clapped it under a tumbler."
"Biddy! Biddy!" cried my wife, going to the door. "Did you see a tumbler here on this table when you swept the room?"
"Sure I did, marm, and 'bomnable bug under it."
"And what did you do with it?" demanded I.
"Put the bug in the fire, sir, and rinsed out the tumbler ever so many times, marm."
"Where is that tumbler?" cried Anna. "I hope you scratched it—marked it some way. I'll never drink out of that tumbler; never put it before me, Biddy. A bug—a bug! Oh, Julia! Oh, mamma! I feel it crawling all over me, even now. Haunted table!"
"Spirits! spirits!" cried Julia.
"My daughters," said their mother, with authority in her eyes, "go to your chamber till you can behave more like reasonable creatures. Is it a bug—a bug that can frighten you out of what little wits you ever had? Leave the room. I am astonished, I am pained by such childish conduct."
"Now tell me," said she, addressing me, as soon as they had withdrawn, "now tell me truly, did a bug really come out of this crack in the table?"
"Wife, it is even so."
"Did you see it come out?"
"I did."
She looked earnestly at the crack, leaning over it.
"Are you sure?" said she, looking up, but still bent over.
"Sure, sure."
She was silent. I began to think that the mystery of the thing began to tell even upon her. Yes, thought I, I shall presently see my wife shaking and shuddering, and, who knows, calling in some old dominie to exorcise the table, and drive out the spirits.
"I'll tell you what we'll do," said she suddenly, and not without excitement.
"What, wife?" said I, all eagerness, expecting some mystical proposition; "what, wife?"
"We will rub this table all over with that celebrated 'roach powder' I've heard of."
"Good gracious! Then you don't think it's spirits?"
"Spirits?"
The emphasis of scornful incredulity was worthy of Democritus himself.
"But this ticking—this ticking?" said I.
"I'll whip that out of it."
"Come, come, wife," said I, "you are going too far the other way, now. Neither roach powder nor whipping will cure this table. It's a queer table, wife; there's no blinking it."
"I'll have it rubbed, though," she replied, "well rubbed;" and calling Biddy, she bade her get wax and brush, and give the table a vigorous manipulation. That done, the cloth was again laid, and we sat down to our morning meal; but my daughters did not make their appearance. Julia and Anna took no breakfast that day.
When the cloth was removed, in a businesslike way, my wife went to work with a dark colored cement, and hermetically closed the little hole in the table.
My daughters looking pale, I insisted upon taking them out for a walk that morning, when the following conversation ensued:
"My worst presentiments about that table are being verified, papa," said Julia; "not for nothing was that intimation of the cloven foot on my shoulder."
"Nonsense," said I. "Let us go into Mrs. Brown's, and have an ice-cream."
The spirit of Democritus was stronger on me now. By a curious coincidence, it strengthened with the strength of the sunlight.
"But is it not miraculous," said Anna, "how a bug should come out of a table?"
"Not at all, my daughter. It is a very common thing for bugs to come out of wood. You yourself must have seen them coming out of the ends of the billets on the hearth."
"Ah, but that wood is almost fresh from the woodland. But the table is at least a hundred years old."
"What of that?" said I, gayly. "Have not live toads been found in the hearts of dead rocks, as old as creation?"
"Say what you will, papa, I feel it is spirits," said Julia. "Do, do now, my dear papa, have that haunted table removed from the house."
"Nonsense," said I.
By another curious coincidence, the more they felt frightened, the more I felt brave.
Evening came.
"This ticking," said my wife; "do you think that another bug will come of this continued ticking?"
Curiously enough, that had not occurred to me before. I had not thought of there being twins of bugs. But now, who knew; there might be even triplets.
I resolved to take precautions, and, if there was to be a second bug, infallibly secure it. During the evening, the ticking was again heard. About ten o'clock I clapped a tumbler over the spot, as near as I could judge of it by my ear. Then we all retired, and locking the door of the cedar-parlor, I put the key in my pocket.
In the morning, nothing was to be seen, but the ticking was heard. The trepidation of my daughters returned. They wanted to call in the neighbors. But to this my wife was vigorously opposed. We should be the laughing-stock of the whole town. So it was agreed that nothing should be disclosed. Biddy received strict charges; and, to make sure, was not allowed that week to go to confession, lest she should tell the priest.
I stayed home all that day; every hour or two bending over the table, both eye and ear. Towards night, I thought the ticking grew more distinct, and seemed divided from my ear by a thinner and thinner partition of the wood. I thought, too, that I perceived a faint heaving up, or bulging of the wood, in the place where I had placed the tumbler. To put an end to the suspense, my wife proposed taking a knife and cutting into the wood there; but I had a less impatient plan; namely, that she and I should sit up with the table that night, as, from present symptoms, the bug would probably make its appearance before morning. For myself, I was curious