“Jack! Jack!” I stammered out, feeling that I must look very pale and frightened, “I have seen a pair of eyes!”
“Whereabouts?” asked Jack. “I suppose that they are in somebody’s head, then?”
“That’s the question,” said I; “I am not quite so sure of it.”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried Jack; “let’s have a look at the place. Where did you see them?”
I pointed to the spot, and plucking up courage as he walked up to it, followed him, clutching my stick tightly. The holly-bushes formed a tolerably large screen, so that we should have to make a wide circuit to get to the rear. Nothing was to be seen in front. No eyes were visible where I had caught the glimpse of them. Jack said it was fancy, but still he had an inclination to examine further. I would rather have waited till the arrival of our friends, but he, telling me to go round one end, ran round the other, that we might catch anybody who might be there. I didn’t like it, but still I went, feeling that I was performing a deed of mighty heroism. I was resolved not to allow Jack to call me a coward; indeed, he very seldom did so, because anything that he dared do, I did; the only difference was that he liked it, and I didn’t. I got round therefore as fast as he did, and just behind the spot where I had seen the eyes, there they were again, but this time I discerned a head and face into which they were fixed—a face I had seen before.
“There, there!” I cried, pointing to the face as Jack came up.
It was that of the poor idiot lad, Dicky Green. He was crouching down, evidently trying to conceal himself from us.
“Why, Dicky, what are you doing here?” cried Jack. “We won’t hurt you.”
“I was a looking to see what’d happen next. He’s a sleeping, bean’t he?” answered the idiot, pointing in the direction of the dead man.
“It’s a sleep from which he will never awake, lad,” said Jack. “He is dead, lad.”