“Yes, and the brass plate in the church, uncle.”
“The deuce is in the boy! Come here, come here: I’ve three minds to break your head, sir!”
“It is a pity somebody had not broken the rascally printer’s, before he had the impudence to disgrace us by having a family, uncle.”
Captain Roland tried hard to frown, but he could not. “Pshaw!” said he, stopping, and taking snuff. “The world of the dead is wide; why should the ghosts jostle us?”
“We can never escape the ghosts, uncle. They haunt us always. We cannot think or act, but the soul of some man, who has lived before, points the way. The dead never die, especially since—”
“Since what, boy? You speak well.”
“Since our great ancestor introduced printing,” said I, majestically.
My uncle whistled “Malbrouk s’en va-t-en guerre.”
I had not the heart to plague him further.
“Peace!” said I, creeping cautiously within the circle of the stick.