I examined the machine critically, by its own candle, which I
removed for the purpose. I meant to fix up one very like it in
Ephraim's bed-room as soon as I found an opportunity. Then I
looked about the room for some other toy, feeling in a fine state
of excitement with the success of my adventure. The room was
quite bare. But for this ghost-machine, there was nothing which
could interest me, except a curious drawing, done with a burnt
stick on the plaster of the wall, of a man-of-war under sail.
After examining this drawing, I listened carefully at the door
lest my faint footsteps should have roused someone below. I could
hear no one stirring; the house was silent. "I must be careful,"
I said to myself. "They all may have gone to bed." Understand, I
did not know then what I was doing. I was merely a wrong-headed
boy, up to a prank, begun in a moment of rebellion. When I paused
in the landing, outside the ghost-room, shading the candle with
my hand, I was not aware that I was doing wrong. I was only
thinking how fine it would be to find out about Mr. Jermyn,
before crawling back, over the plank, to my bed. I wanted to
steal about these deserted floors, like a conspirator; then,
having, perhaps, found out about the mystery, to go back home. It
did not enter my head that I might be shot as a burglar. My
original intention, you must remember, had only been to stop the
works of the ghost. It was later on that my intention became
criminal, instead of merely boyish, or, in other words,
crack-brained.
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