"Because," continued the old man, gathering a pinch of snuff with great deliberation, "because, Jarge, the young feller as beat ye at the throwin'—'im as was to 'ave worked for ye at 'is own price—be dead."
"What!" cried Black George, starting.
"Dead!" nodded the old man, "a corp' 'e be—eh! such a fine, promisin' young chap, an' now—a corp'." Here the Ancient nodded solemnly again, three times, and inhaled his pinch of snuff with great apparent zest and enjoyment.
"Why—" began the amazed George, "what—" and broke off to stare, open-mouthed.
"Last night, as ever was," continued the old man, "'e went down to th' 'aunted cottage—'t weren't no manner o' use tryin' to turn 'im, no, not if I'd gone down to 'im on my marrer-bones—'e were that set on it; so off he goes, 'bout sundown, to sleep in th' 'aunted cottage—I knows, Jarge, 'cause I follered un, an' seen for myself; so now I'm a-goin' down to find 'is corp'—"
He had reached thus far, when his eye, accustomed to the shadows, chancing to meet mine, he uttered a gasp, and stood staring at me with dropped jaw.
"Peter!" he stammered at last. "Peter—be that you, Peter?"
"To be sure it is," said I.
"Bean't ye—dead, then?"
"I never felt more full of life."