"Ho! ho!" he laughed, as he set himself down on a flat tombstone, which was a favorite resting-place of his, and drew forth his wicker-bottle. "A coffin at Christmas! A Christmas box. Ho! ho! ho!"
"Ho! ho! ho!" repeated a voice close beside him.
"It was the echoes," said he, raising the bottle to his lips again.
"It was not," said a deep voice.
Gabriel started up and stood rooted to the spot with terror, for his eyes rested on a form that made his blood run cold.
Seated on an upright tombstone close to him was a strange, unearthly figure. He was sitting perfectly still, grinning at Gabriel Grubb with such a grin as only a goblin could call up.
"What do you here on Christmas Eve?" said the goblin, sternly.
"I came to dig a grave, sir," stammered Gabriel.
"What man wanders among graves on such a night as this?" cried the goblin.
"Gabriel Grubb! Gabriel Grubb!" screamed a wild chorus of voices that seemed to fill the churchyard.