“Of course it does,” said Vince frankly; “and I am just a little like that. I suppose it’s what the men here all feel, and it keeps them away.”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Mike eagerly.
“But then, you know, they believe lots of things that we laugh at. There isn’t a man or boy here in Crag would go and sit in the churchyard on a dark night.”
“Well, you wouldn’t either,” said Mike.
“No, I suppose not,” said Vince thoughtfully. “I don’t think I believe in ghosts—I’m sure I don’t; and I know that if I saw anything I should feel it was some one trying to frighten us. But I shouldn’t like to go and sit in a churchyard in the dark, because—because—”
“You’d be afraid,” said Mike, with a laugh.
“Yes, I should be afraid, but not as you mean,” said the lad. “I should feel that it was doing a mocking, boasting sort of thing toward the dead people who were all lying asleep there.”
“Dead,” interposed Mike.
“No: father says asleep—quietly asleep, after being in pain and sickness, or being tired out from growing very old.”
Mike looked at him curiously, and they were both silent for a few moments, till Mike said quickly:—