'Nonsense,' said the verger, who had recovered himself a little; 'let's listen where the sound comes from.'
'Let us out; unlock the door, please!' shouted the children again.
'It's some one in the tower,' said the old man; 'though how on earth any one could have got there it passes me to think.'
So the old people and their daughter went in the direction of the cries, and the verger took the great old key from his pocket which unlocked the tower door. Yet even when the key was in the key-hole he paused a moment, as if he did not like to turn it in the lock.
'I wonder whoever it can be,' he said timidly.
'It's a ghost; I'll be bound it's a ghost,' said old Betty; 'they say they do haunt all these queer old places.'
'Well, we'll have a look,' said her husband, summoning up all his courage; 'so here goes.' He turned the key, the door flew open, and out came the three poor children, weary, pale, and shivering with cold.
'Well, I never!' said the verger's wife, holding up her hands in amazement.
'Wherever on earth have you come from?' said her husband.
'I know, father,' said Rose Ann; 'these must be the three children of Grey Friars Court. I heard the bellman crying them last night.'