"Morning, Squoire," said Ark, with his usual grunt. "Fine weather fur they crops I du think. Hor! Hor! Hor!"
Rupert stopped to rebuke this levity. "Don't you know that Mr. Leigh is dead?"
"Oh, no, he bain't dead," said the ancient easily. "A knock on the head don't settle such as he."
"Nonsense, man! Why, the vicar was extremely weak, and a mere tap would settle him. What are you talking about?"
"About Muster Leigh. Hor! Hor! Hor! He ain't dead. I've seen him dead afore, but he nivir come my way fur the berryin', Squoire."
"He'll come your way this time, Titus, I am afraid," replied Rupert, wondering why the old man was so stubborn. He surmised that, as Leigh--according to the doctor--had heart disease, he must have fainted at times in Ark's presence, which would account for the sexton's saying he had seen him dead. "I suppose you don't know who murdered him?"
"He bain't murdered, Squoire."
"Then you don't know who struck him?" said Hendle, amending his question.
"Naw. Muster Leigh, he said good-bye to me last night at six when he left Mussus Pattens, who is my datter. She's taken a turn for the better."
"I'm glad to hear it, Titus. Did Mr. Leigh say if he expected any visitor last night?"