“And yet here you are, all shivering and nervous—too ill to attend service this morning; and you tell me you saw something in the church last night.”
“Ay, and so I did, doctor. I s’pose I swownded away, I was took so bad; and must have laid there for hours before I got up and crawled home; and Parson Salis must be in a fine taking this morning, for there’s nothing done in the church.”
“Oh! never mind that, Moredock; Mr Salis is sorry you are ill. He’s a good fellow, and he sent me on this morning. You’re a bit nervous and shaken at what you fancied you saw. Come, Moredock, old man, I’m a doctor, and you’re a sexton, and we’re too much men of the world—we’ve seen and known too much—to be afraid of ghosts, eh?”
“Ghosts! Sperits! I’m afraid of no ghosts, doctor; but I see that thing o’ Saturday night.”
“Thought you saw it, old chap!”
“Nay, doctor, I saw it; and that’s what scares me.”
“Pooh! You scared at something you saw—a hollow turnip and a sheet! A trick played by some scamp in the village.”
“Trick played? Nay, doctor; there isn’t a lad in the village dare do it. I know ’em. I aren’t scared at the thing I saw. It’s at what it means.”
“What it means! Then, what does it mean?”
“Notice to quit this here earthly habitation, as parson calls it, doctor. That’s what it means.”