grounds of the village to-night, he will not go in vain. Not only will he see wandering ghosts, he will also hear their voices and can, if he likes, hold converse with them.' I remembered the exploits and adventures of my boyhood and burst into laughter. The old man looked towards me and said, 'Please come here.' When I went to him he asked me gravely, 'You do not believe in ghosts?'
'No.'
'Why do you not? Is there any special reason for your disbelief?'
'No.'
'Well, then, there are holy men in this village of ours who have seen them with their own eyes. And because you have read a few pages of English, you think fit to disbelieve me and laugh in my face. I had forgotten, though, that Bengalis are atheists and unbelievers.' I was surprised at the turn the matter had taken. 'My dear sir,' I said, 'I do not wish to argue about this matter. My belief is my own. Whether I be an atheist or not, I do not believe in ghosts. Those who say they have seen them have either been deceived or are liars: that is my belief.'
Suddenly the old gentleman caught hold of my right hand and asked, 'Will you go to the cremation-grounds to-night?' 'I will,' I replied laughing. 'I have gone to many cremation-grounds on many nights since my boyhood.'
Hot with anger, the old gentleman began to relate the terrors of the local cremation-ground, a description that seemed to freeze his audience to the very marrow. 'These
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