Preparing for Action.
Hickathrift shook his head; Mrs Hickathrift screwed up her lips, shut her eyes, and shuddered; and the former doubled up his hard fist and shook it in the air, as if he were going to hit nothing, as he gave out his opinion—this being also the opinion of all the labouring people near.
“Ay, yow may laugh, Mester Dick, but they’ll nivver find out nowt. It’s sperrits, that’s what it is—sperrits of the owd fen, them as makes the ager, and sends will-o’-the-wisps to lead folkses into the bog. They don’t like the drain being med, and they shutes and bons, and does all they can to stop it.”
“You’re a great goose, Hicky,” said Dick sharply. “Who ever heard of a ghost—”
“I didn’t say ghost, my lad. I said sperrits!”
“Well, they’re all the same.”
“Nay, nay, ghosts is ghosts, and sperrits is sperrits.”
“Well, then, who ever heard of a spirit going out skating with a lantern, or poling about with a punt, or shooting people, or blowing up sluice-gates, or cutting beasts’ legs, or setting fire to their houses? Did you?”
“I nivver did till now, Mester Dick.”
“It’s all nonsense about spirits; isn’t it, Tom?”