got the property, was to
buy stock for the park.

"It was not wise, in any case, to graze the land on their own account.
But they little knew all they had to contend with.

"Before long something went wrong with the cattle; first one, and then
another, took sick and died, and so on, till the loss began to grow
heavy. Then, queer stories, little by little, began to be told. It was
said, first by one, then by another, that Squire Bowes was seen, about
evening time, walking, just as he used to do when he was alive, among
the old trees, leaning on his stick; and, sometimes when he came up
with the cattle, he would stop and lay his hand kindly like on the
back of one of them; and that one was sure to fall sick next day, and
die soon after.

"No one ever met him in the park, or in the woods, or ever saw him,
except a good distance off. But they knew his gait and his figure
well, and the clothes he used to wear; and they could tell the beast
he laid his hand on by its colour--white, dun, or black; and that
beast was sure to sicken and die. The neighbours grew shy of taking
the path over the park; and no one liked to walk in the woods, or come
inside the bounds of Barwyke: and the cattle went on sickening and
dying as before.

"At that time there was one Thomas Pyke; he had been a groom to the
old Squire; and he was in care of the place, and was the only one that
used to sleep in the house.

"Tom was vexed, hearing these stories; which he did not believe the
half on 'em; and more especial as he could not get man or boy to herd
the cattle; all being afeared. So he wrote to Matlock in Derbyshire,
for his brother, Richard Pyke, a clever lad, and one that knew nout o'
the story of the old Squire walking.

"Dick came; and the cattle was better; folk said they could still see
the old Squire, sometimes, walking, as before, in openings of the
wood, with his stick in his hand; but he was shy of coming nigh the
cattle, whatever his reason might be, since Dickon Pyke came; and he
used to stand a long bit off, looking at them, with no more stir in
him than a trunk o' one of the old trees, for an hour at a time, till
the shape melted away, little by little, like the smoke of a fire that
burns out.

"Tom Pyke and his brother Dickon, being the only living souls in the
house, lay in the big bed in the servants' room, the house being fast
barred and locked, one night in November.

"Tom was lying next the wall, and he told me, as wide