So the whole half-tipsy party reeled along the road, talking very loud, to encourage themselves and the others, till they approached the church, the spire of which stood up dark against the night sky.
"There's no lights in the windows," said one.
"No," observed the churchwarden, "I didn't notice any myself; it was from the graves the music came, as if all the dead was squeakin' like pigs."
"Hush!" All kept silence—not a sound could be heard.
"I'm sure I heard music afore," said the churchwarden. "I'll bet a gallon of ale I did."
"There ain't no music now, though," remarked one of the men.
"Nor more there ain't," said others.
"Well, I don't care—I say I heard it," asseverated the churchwarden. "Let's go up closer."
All of the party drew nearer to the wall of the graveyard. One man, incapable of maintaining his legs unaided, sustained himself on the arm of another.
"Well, I do believe, Churchwarden Eggins, as how you have been leading us a wild goose chase!" said a fellow.