"
"Why to my mind there never was bigger stuff talked," the landlord spoke
out, without fear of offence, for there was no other sign-board within
three miles, "than to carry on in that way, Charley. What they may do
at Littlehampton is beyond my knowledge, never having kept a snug crib
there, as you was pleased to call it. But at Springhaven 'twould be the
wrong place for hatching of French treacheries. We all know one another
a deal too well for that, I hope."
"Prater, you are right," exclaimed Mr. Cheeseman, owner of the main shop
in the village, and universally respected. "Bowles, you must have an
imagination the same as your uncle Jerry had. And to speak of the Carnes
in a light way of talking, after all their misfortunes, is terrible.
Why, I passed the old castle one night last week, with the moon to one
side of it, and only me in my one-horse shay to the other, and none but
a man with a first-rate conscience would have had the stomach to do so.
However, I seed no ghosts that time, though I did hear some noises as
made me use the whip; and the swing of the ivy was black as a hearse. A
little drop more of my own rum, John: it gives me quite a chill to think
of it."
"I don't take much account of what people say," Harry Shanks, who had a
deep clear voice, observed, "without it is in my own family. But my
own cousin Bob was coming home one night from a bit of sweethearting at
Pebbleridge, when, to save the risk of rabbit-holes in the dark, for he
put out his knee-cap one time, what does he do but take the path inland
through the wood below Carne Castle--the opposite side to where you
was, Master Cheeseman, and the same side as the moon would be, only she
wasn't up that night.
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