“Come along it is, sir; but I’m getting so thirsty.”
They went on for a few minutes more, and then Samson uttered an exclamation.
“Hush!” whispered Fred.
“But didn’t you hear that, sir? It’s the guytrash.”
“Here, this way,” whispered Fred. “I can find the place now.”
“No, no, dear lad, don’t go near it,” said Samson, under his breath. “You never know what may happen, if you go near it. Don’t, pray don’t go.”
Samson emphasised his appeal by holding tightly to his young master’s jerkin, impeding his movements to such an extent that Fred turned upon him fiercely.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he said, “with your guytrashes and goblins, and witches and nonsense.”
“What, sir! Why, didn’t you hear it moan yonder?”
“I heard a sigh.”