"Ey, it's thy fadder's grave," said Job Sheepshanks.
Drayton glanced down at the headstone.
"Why, so it is!" he said; "d'ye see, I hain't been here since the day I buried him."
"Nay, that's all stuff and nonsense," said Job. "I mind the morning I found ye lying wet and frostit on the top of that grave."
"D'ye say so? Well, I ain't for denying it; and now I think of it, I was—yes, I was here that morning."
"Nay, you warn't nowt o' the sort," said the blacksmith. "That were the varra morning as Giles Raisley saw you at the Pack Horse sleeping. I mind the fratch Job had with laal Gubblum about it long ago."
"It's all stuff and nonsense," replied Job. "He were here."
"The Pack Horse? Well, now, I remember, I was there, too."
The singing had ceased, and Greta came out into the porch on tiptoe, carrying in her arms a tiny mite, who was crying. Peter handed her the telegram, and turned up the path.
Drayton had rejoined his companions, and was in the act of knocking the neck off a bottle by striking it against the wall, when Peter walked through the lych-gate.