William turned his head with a movement of surprise. "I don't do anything at the back of your house. What do you mean?"
"Not walk about there, watching it, as thee did last night?"
"Certainly not! I do not understand you."
Samuel Lynn's brows knit heavily. "William, I deemed thee truthful. Why deny what is a palpable fact?"
William Halliburton put down the pair of gloves he had in his hand, and turned to the Quaker. "In saying that I do not walk at the back of your house at night, or at the back of any house, I state the truth."
"Last night at seven o'clock, I saw thee parading there in thy cloak. I saw thee, I say, William. The night was unusually light."
"Last night, from tea-time until half-past nine, I never stirred out of my mother's parlour," rejoined William. "I was at my books as usual. At half-past nine I ran up to say a word to Henry Ashley. You saw me returning."
"But I saw thee at the back with my own eyes," persisted the Quaker. "I saw thy cloak. Thee had on that blue cap of thine: it was tied down over thy ears; and the collar of the cloak was turned up, to protect thee, as I surmised, from the cold."
"It must have been my ghost," responded William. "Should I be likely to pace up and down a cold field, for pastime, on a January night?"
"Will thee oblige me by putting on thy cloak?" was all the answer returned by Samuel Lynn.