“Wind doo sou’-westerly, Jarge?”
“It be, Ben!” answered Mr. Potter, as they followed the cheery man into a sunny, sand-strewn tap.
“Mr. Dumbrell,” said Sir John, “having regard to your ague, may I suggest——”
“Ale!” snapped that Ancient Person. “I never drinks naum but ale, young man, ’cept, p’r’aps a mug o’ gumboo now an’ then when ’tis to be ’ad, but no sperrits for oi!”
The cheery Ed’ard, having attended duly to their several wants, forthwith returned to smile at the road again.
“Talking of spirits,” said Sir John as they sat, all four, with their foaming tankards before them, “ex-Corporal Robert Doubleday here tells me that he saw a ghost the other night——”
“Well, what o’ that?” piped the Ancient One. “Theer be ’ostesses o’ ghostesses ’ereabouts in Sussex, I rackon. What the rabbits, young man! I du tell ’ee as I’ve seed ghostesses galore, wi’ corpse-candles, an’ willy-wipsies, aye, an’ fairieses afore noo! Wait till I’ve blowed the fob off’n my ale, an’ I’ll tell ’ee.”
“Fairieses?” questioned Sir John.
“Some folk do call ’em fairies, sir,” explained Mr. Potter.