Ned and Tim were soon ready.
In the meantime the landlord prepared a bottle of brandy, some pipes and tobacco, which he put in a large bag, and slung over his shoulder.
“We will all go and see you safely in,” said the inmates, “but you must excuse us if we don’t share the dangers with you. We’ve had enough of ghosts and skeletons in our time about here.”
“Oh, certainly,” was Ned’s careless answer, “much obliged to you for your kind offer.”
All was ready, and Tim had just returned with the pistols, upon which, the whole party having bid good-night to the landlady, sallied forth about half-past twelve.
The rain had not entirely ceased, and the night, to use the sexton’s expression, was dark as the parish vaults.
The landlord walked first with a huge lantern, the reflection of which upon the wet stones formed a striking contrast with the surrounding objects.
After him came Ned Warbeck, between the sexton and the blacksmith.
Tim brought up the rear with the rest of the party.
They having arrived at the “haunted house,” the landlord soon applied to the door a key of vast dimensions.