‘“What have you got in that bottle?” said the goblin.
‘“Hollands, sir,” replied the sexton, trembling more than ever; for he had bought it of the smugglers, and he thought that perhaps his questioner might be in the excise department of the goblins.
‘“Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard, on such a night as this?” said the goblin.
‘“Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!” exclaimed the wild voices again.
‘The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and then raising his voice, exclaimed—
‘“And who, then, is our fair and lawful prize?”
‘To this inquiry the invisible chorus replied, in a strain that sounded like the voices of many choristers singing to the mighty swell of the old church organ—a strain that seemed borne to the sexton’s ears upon a wild wind, and to die away as it passed onward; but the burden of the reply was still the same, “Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!”
‘The goblin grinned a broader grin than before, as he said, “Well, Gabriel, what do you say to this?”
‘The sexton gasped for breath.
‘“What do you think of this, Gabriel?” said the goblin, kicking up his feet in the air on either side of the tombstone, and looking at the turned-up points with as much complacency as if he had been contemplating the most fashionable pair of Wellingtons in all Bond Street.