“All bones?” answered the Colonel, “why it must be a skeleton.”
“I don’t say that he ain’t,” was the answer, “but if he be, he’s nigh on seven foot high, and sitting airing of hissel in a stone bath.”
“Oh, rubbish,” said the Colonel. “How can a skeleton sit and air himself? He would tumble to bits.”
“I don’t know, but there he be, and they don’t call this here place 'Dead Man’s Mount’ for nawthing.”
“Well,” said the Colonel argumentatively, “a skeleton is a perfectly harmless thing.”
“Yes, if he’s dead maybe, sir, but this one’s alive, I saw him nod his head at me.”
“Look here, George,” answered Harold, feeling that if this went on much longer he should lose his nerve altogether. “I’m not going to be scared. Great heavens, what a gust! I’m going down to see for myself.”
“Very good, Colonel,” answered George, “and I’ll wait here till you come up again—that is if you iver du.”
Thrice did Harold look at the hole in the masonry and thrice did he shrink back.
“Come,” he shouted angrily, “don’t be a fool; get down here and hand me the lantern.”