It must be stated that the sexton was looked upon as a character in the village. Certainly he was a strange looking object. He was very old and decrepit, exceedingly bow-legged, had a bald, mis-shapen head. Was toothless, hollow-eyed, with features that suggested a skull. He was stone deaf, and had, moreover, acquired a habit of uttering his thoughts aloud, whoever might be present, perfectly unconscious that he could be overheard. If addressed, he never gave himself any trouble to catch the meaning of his interlocutor, but always fluked an answer such as he deemed ought to fit the question.
Thus, when our antiquary approached with a "Good morning, Delves. Hard at work, I see. Whose grave may you be working at, now?" he received for answer, "Thank you, sir; I'm very well. Yes, as you say, it be remarkable fine weather for this time o' the year, surely."
"But I didn't make any remark about the weather, Delves," persisted Oldstone. "You didn't understand me."
The sexton made no reply, nor looked the antiquary in the face, but muttered very audibly to himself, "That be one o' them old fools of the Wonder Club—Wonder Club, indeed; ha! ha!" Here he gave vent to a mocking laugh. Then, "He should see some o' my wonders."
Our antiquary was accustomed to the eccentricities of this worthy, who was generally looked upon as a harmless idiot; but when he heard the Wonder Club sneered at, he took deep offence, and was about to utter some rebuke, when the grave-digger began muttering again to himself, and Oldstone, whose curiosity was being roused, forbore to speak, and thought he would listen instead.
"A little knows I seed un's corpse candle last night, he, he! Ay, he'll be the next. They can't, none o' them, fool me. Whenever they've got to die, old Delves allers sees their corpse candles fust. Wasn't I right before Lord Scampford and his bully met with their death, eh? Didn't I say that only one on' o' 'em ud be buried in this here churchyard, and wasn't one on 'em buried in that there corner just as I prognosticated, and didn't I see the corpse candle of 'is lordship go along the road towards London? They allers lets me know beforehand, my customers. Now, there's this here gent, the hantiquary, as they calls him—if I didn't see 'uns corpse candle last night a leavin' the hinn o' the ''Eadless Lady,' and settle down on this wery spot where 'e's a standin', I'll be shot, that's all. If a's not doo to-morrer, or next day, 'e's doo within this week. I never knowed one live more nor a week after I'd seen 'uns corpse candle."
Our antiquary, now intensely interested, determined to interrogate him anew, so he bawled out as loud as he could in his ear, making a trumpet of his hands, "Whose grave did you say that was?"
"Yourn, zur," replied the sexton, with a grin.
"Mine!" exclaimed the antiquary, starting back: "but I'm not dead yet."
"Not dead yet—ain't ye; he, he! Well, you soon will be; ho, ho! I'll give ye three days. I don't think ye'll last longer nor that; but there's where you've got to lie, willy-nilly," said the sexton, pointing to the grave.