Walter Wyatt was scarcely welcomed back to life by the denizens of the cove generally with the enthusiasm attendant on the first moments of his resuscitation, so to speak. He never forgot the solemn ecstasy of that experience, and in later years he was wont to annul any menace of discord with his wife by the warning, half jocose, half tender: “Ye hed better mind; ye'll be sorry some day fur treatin' me so mean. Remember, I hev viewed ye a-weepin' over my grave before now.”
A reformation, however complete and salutary, works no change of identity, and although he developed into an orderly, industrious, law-abiding citizen, his prankish temperament remained recognizable in the fantastic fables which he delighted to recount at some genial fireside of what he had seen and heard as a ghost.
“Pears like, Watt, ye hed more experiences whenst dead than living” said an auditor, as these stories multiplied.
“I did, fur a fack,” Watt protested. “I war a powerful onchancy, onquiet ghost. I even did my courtin' whilst in my reg'lar line o' business a-hanatin' a graveyard.”