"Oh, it's you, is it?" said the Pedler, and forthwith Gabbing Dick stepped out of the shadows, brooms on shoulder and bulging pack upon his back, at sight of which the leafy tumult of his approach was immediately accounted for. "So it's you, is it?" he repeated, setting down his brooms and spitting lugubriously at the nearest patch of shadow.
"Yes," I answered, "but what brings you here?"
"I be goin' to sleep 'ere, my chap."
"Oh!—you don't mind the ghost, then?"
"Oh, Lord, no! Theer be only two things as I can't abide—trees as ain't trees is one on em, an' women's t' other."
"Women?"
"Come, didn't I 'once tell you I were married?"
"You did."
"Very well then! Trees as ain't trees is bad enough, Lord knows!—but women's worse—ah!" said the Pedler, shaking his head, "a sight worse! Ye see, trees ain't got tongues—leastways not as I ever heerd tell on, an' a tree never told a lie—or ate a apple, did it?"
"What do you mean by 'ate an apple'?"