"We might have been settled down for a year or two, Isaac," said Simpson as the two brothers sat smoking in the parlour that night. "Everything's in order."
"Aye, and the next thing's to finish getting the land in order," said Isaac. "We're not going to shift out of here as quickly as those other chaps did, Simpson, my lad—ghosts or no ghosts."
"I wonder if we shall hear or see anything?" said Simpson, meditatively.
Isaac glanced at a couple of up-to-date fowling-pieces which hung over the mantel-piece.
He wagged his head in a self-assured and threatening manner.
"If I see any ghosts," he said, "I'll let daylight through 'em. It'll be a fine ghost that can stand a charge of Number 4."
"Aye," said Simpson, "but then, according to what some folk say——"
He paused, rubbing his chin, and his brother stared at him with the suspicion of a doubt in his mind.
"Well?" said Isaac, impatiently. "Well?"
"According to some folk," said Simpson, "there's ghosts as you can't see. You can only feel 'em."