“I—I. Come out of here into the garden,” whispered Peter.
Dan’l was going down the garden to the potting-shed, so he made no objection, and, arrived there, Peter, with solemn emphasis, told how he had gone in search of the squirrel, and that there was something up in the loft.
“Yes,” said old Dan’l contemptuously—“rats.”
“Yes; I know that,” said Peter excitedly; and his eyes looked wild and dilated; “but there’s something else.”
Dan’l put down the barrow, and sat upon the soft mould as he gave his rough stubbly chin a rub.
“Lookye here, Peter,” he said; “did yer ever hear tell about ghosts being in old buildings?”
“Yes,” said Peter, with an involuntary shiver, and a glance across the wall at a corroded weathercock on the top of the ancient place.
“Well, my lad, ghosts never comes out in the day-time: only o’ nights; and do you know what they are?”
Peter shook his head.
“Well, then, my lad, I’ll tell you. I’ve sin several in my time. Them as you hears and don’t see’s rats; and them as you sees and don’t hear’s howls. What d’yer think o’ that?”