It was about nine o'clock at night when Darius Smith quit his hay making on a farm west of Leesport and began the long trek back to his Shoemakersville home.

He had just passed through Mohrsville when his attention was diverted by a strange sensation that seemed to embrace his entire being.

In an instant, there arose from a nearby meadow the faint image of a young woman.

What appeared to be a white gown draped from her spectral shoulders. Darius Smith's eyes were riveted to the improbable sight.

Was it his imagination, or was a blue flame slowly enveloping the pale figure?

Was it a mournful hymn or sobbing he heard emanating from the ashen apparition?

Was the wraith slowly ascending and circling over him?

Were those steely eyes gazing back at him, or vacant sockets where eyes ought to be?

Already stunned, Smith was paralyzed by fear as the phantom began to speak.

"There! There!," the ghost urged as it pointed a slender finger toward a clump of underbrush.

"Near that log," the form uttered until its words were cut short. "Oh, my --!"

Smith's own words detailed what played out in the ensuing moments:

"I was unable to move even a hand. It motioned and beckoned me to come. I followed, and it led me to the place. There lay the log, all covered with fresh signs of blood.

"Coming in close proximity I now made sure that it was the form of a woman. Her features looked haggard and worn, as though having undergone a terrible ordeal.

"I could not do otherwise than follow, more staggering than walking, more dead than alive, through and over the river, which fortunately only reached to my knees, down the right bank to the railroad where a small hand truck was standing on the track.

"This had the marks of blood as though a body had been dragged over it. There she beckoned me to sit. I sat down and the specter rose five or six feet above ground.

"The truck now started, and we flew with lightning velocity.

"I rode a mile a minute with the ghost.

Suddenly, I came to a halt, from what cause I am still unable to say. We were beside a little pond. She now led the way down to the water, looking so worn that she crawled more than walked. Nearing the edge of the pond or small creek, that was almost hidden by the high growing grass and woods, she exclaimed: 'My God! My God! Here...here!...Here!!

"And with this strange sentence on her lips, she fell into the stream.

"I now seemed to realize more than ever my perilous position. Fright took the place of stupor, and I with the womanly form still in the water, being dripping wet, started on a dead run toward home. I ran as I never before ran for about two miles."

Smith wound up collapsing at the gate of a friend's house near Shoemakersville. After a good night's rest, he attempted to tell his story to his chum.

"After fully relating my experience and taking a light breakfast and a cup of tea, I started on to my home with a full determination never to travel that road again by night," he concluded.

As you cross the Dauberville Bridge, particularly at night, beware that just north of you, a sad and restless spirit may dwell.