"Frightened of ghosts, I s'pose," growled one.
"No more than yourself, John Drillot. But we've wasted a day on this same fooling, and the man's not here; and for me, I doubt if he's ever been here."
"And what of the things we found in the shelter?" said Drillot. "Think they came there of themselves?"
"I don't care how they came there. It's not old cloaks and blankets we came after. Maybe he has been here. I don't know. But he's not here now, and I've had enough of it."
"B'en! I'm not afraid to stop all night—if anyone'll stop with me"—and if no one had offered he would have been just as well pleased. "Don't know as I'd care to stop all alone."
"Frightened of ghosts, maybe," scoffed the other.
"You stop with me, Tom Guille, and we'll see which is frightenedest of ghosts, you or me."
But Tom Guille believed in ghosts as devoutly as any old woman in Sark, and he was bound for home, no matter what the rest chose to do.
"There's not a foot of the rock we haven't searched," said he, "and the man's not here; so what's the use of waiting all night?"
"Because if he's in hiding it's at night he'll come out."