This unexpected assertion brought a pause of discomfiture. "He's head ain't right yet," observed Mrs. Duff apologetically; "and that's why I've not asked him nothing."
"Yes, it is right, mother," said Dan. "I never see Rachel last night. I never said as I did."
Another pause—spent in contemplating Dan. "I knowed a case like this, once afore," observed old Miss Till, who carried round the milk to Deerham. "A boy got a fright, and they couldn't bring him to at all. Epsum salts did it at last. Three pints of 'em they give, I think it was, and that brought his mind round."
"It's a good remedy," acquiesced Mrs. Jones. "There's nothing like plenty of Epsum salts for boys. I'd try 'em on him, Mother Duff."
"Dan, dear," said Susan Peckaby insinuatingly—for she had come in along with the rest, ignoring for the moment what might be waiting at her door—"was it in the pound as you saw Rachel's ghost?"
"'Twarn't Rachel's ghost as I did see," persisted Dan.
"Tell us who it was, then?" asked she, humouring him.
The boy answered. But he answered below his breath; as if he scarcely dared to speak the name aloud. His mother partially caught it.
"Whose?" she exclaimed, in a sharp voice, her tone changing. And Dan spoke a little louder.
"It was Mr. Frederick Massingbird's!"