"Holy Mary, there's a ghost," said he, crossing himself and gripping Claud by the arm. They all looked up, and, sure enough, there was something white and weird moving slowly across the plain of the dead. Their eyes riveted on it. Paddy muttered a prayer; Bill eloquently wondered what the white thing was; Sandy, remarkably cool, picked up the bracelet, coins and other trinkets and placed them in his pocket. He did this, as he explained afterwards, "in case the ghost wid get them."
"It's mighty funny," muttered Claud, frequently adjusting his eyeglass to see the dread apparition more clearly.
"It's a ghost, boys, I tell ye. My ould father has seen them when he lived in Kerry. Heaven preserve us!" he ejaculated, crossing himself for about the fiftieth time.
"Ghost or no ghost, Paddy Doolan, I'm going after it," Bill said. Quietly picking up his tool, he walked forward to the weird, white thing still advancing. He reached it, then turned with it towards the crouching grave wreckers. Halting about ten yards from them, Bill shouted, "Paddy Doolan."
"Yis, Bill," was the timorous reply.
"It's an Irish ghost—a Kerry one."
"What is it?" said Claud, rising and shaking off the supernatural fear which had held him for a moment.
"It's a white donkey on the loose," answered Bill, bursting into laughter. Paddy recovered instantly and joined with the others in the admiration of the innocent ass which had strayed from its usual haunts. After sniffing its new-found friends, the donkey let out a terrible bray, flung up its heels and departed into the night.
They recommenced their digging operations; so engrossed were they with their discoveries that they did not hear the approach of some chattering natives. These dusky gents were within fifty yards of them when Bill whispered, "Keep still—lie down." They obeyed, and lying flat on the ground saw some Arabs go by. They could just see their figures against the sky, and had time to note that they carried shovels.
"On the same game," whispered Bill.