"It was a ghost, sir," she answered, apparently picking up a little courage, now the subject was fairly entered upon.
A pause ensued. Mr. Verner may have been at a loss what to say next. When deliberately assured by any timorous spirit that they have "seen a ghost," it is waste of time to enter an opposing argument.
"Where did you see the ghost?" he asked.
"I had stopped still, listening to the quarrelling, sir. But that soon came to an end, for I heard no more, and I went on a few steps, and then I stopped to listen again. Just as I turned my head towards the grove, where the quarrelling had seemed to be, I saw something a few paces from me that made my flesh creep. A tall, white thing it looked, whiter than the moonlight. I knew it could be nothing but a ghost, and my knees sunk down from under me, and I laid hold o' the trunk o' the tree."
"Perhaps it was a death's head and bones?" cried John Massingbird.
"Maybe, sir," she answered. "That, or something worse. It glided through the trees with its great eyes staring at me; and I felt ready to die."
"Was it a man's or a woman's ghost?" asked Mr. Bitterworth, a broad smile upon his face.
"Couldn't have been a woman's, sir; 'twas too tall," was the sobbing answer. "A great tall thing it looked, like a white shadder. I wonder I be alive!"
"So do I," irascibly cried Mr. Verner. "Which way was it going? Towards the village, or in this direction?"
"Not in either of 'em, sir. It glided right off at a angle amid the trees."