"Alack-a-day! that I should have a son with so little wit!" cried the
old woman; "it was no ghost, but a thief, who is now making merry with
all the money we possessed."

"We have his sheet," replied her son; "and that is due solely to my
determination. How could I have acted better?"

"You should have grasped the man, not the sheet," said the widow,
"and pummelled him till he cried out and dropped the money-bag."

"Live and learn," said the cobbler. The next night he went out as
before, and this time reached the churchyard unmolested. He was just
climbing the stile, when he again saw what seemed to be a white figure
standing near the church. As before, it proved solid, and this time he
pummelled it till his fingers bled, and for very weariness he was
obliged to go home and relate his exploits. The ghost had not cried
out, however, nor even so much as moved, for it was neither more nor
less than a tall tombstone shining white in the moonlight.

"Alack-a-day!" cried the old woman, "that I should have a son with so
little wit as to beat a gravestone till his knuckles are sore! Now if
he had covered it with something black that it might not alarm timid
women or children, that would at least have been an act of charity."

"Live and learn," said the cobbler. The following night he again set
forth, but this time in another direction. As he was crossing a field
behind his house he saw some long pieces of linen which his mother had
put out to bleach in the dew.