The sky was still softly suffused with the clear rose and amber of the sunset when he leaned over the wall, as he filled his pipe, and looked out into the darkening road.
"Har-Héri! Qué-hou-hou!" croaked a hoarse little voice in the hedge opposite.
"Hello, Johnnie-boy! That you?"
"Where you bin te-day?"
"Where have I been? Down in Little Sark, prowling about the mines, stealing lumps of silver——"
"Godzamin! They an't any silver now."
"No? All right, my son. Then I'm telling you fibs."
"Show me."
"Ah, I don't carry it about with me."
"An't got any." And presently, as Graeme lit up, without deigning any answer,—"I seen a ghost las' night."