"The house do be very--gay these days, Sergeant."

"O mam! And why?"

"Well, since Viscount Merivale came with his two gentlemen."

"His two what, mam? Meaning who, mam?"

"Lud, Sergeant, his gentlemen for sure, Mr. Arthur and Mr. Charles--so
polite, so witty and they never swear!" The Sergeant snorted. "One
can never be dull in their company. Mr. Charles has such a flow of
talk and Mr. Arthur is a perfect mine of anecdote, ha'n't you noticed?"

"Why no, mam. The only mines as I'm acquainted with is the kind that
explodes."

"But indeed, Sergeant, everything seems changing for the better--take
his honour the Major, see how young he looks in his fine things--aye,
as young as his nephew and handsomer. And now 'tis your turn to
change----"

"I ain't given to change, mam."

"A frill to your shirt, say, and your wig powdered----"

"Frills, mam--never! And I haven't powdered my wig since we quit
soldiering, why should I? What's a man of forty-three want to go
a-powdering of his wig for? Frills, mam? Powder, mam? Now what I say
to that is----"

"Ha' done, Sergeant!"

"Very good, mam! Only I leave frills and powder and such to young
fly-b'-nights----"

"Powder, and frills, and ruffles at your wrists, Sergeant----"

"And talkin' o' fly-b'-nights, mam, brings me to a question I wish to
ax you and meant to ax you afore."

"A--a question, Sergeant?" she repeated faintly, beginning to trace out
a pattern on the path with the toe of her neat shoe.

"As I want you to answer prompt, mam, aye or no."

"Very well, Sergeant," said she, fainter than before. "I'm listening."

"D'ye sleep well o' nights, mam?"

Mrs. Agatha started, glanced up swiftly and, for no apparent reason,
blushed very red under the Sergeant's direct gaze.

"Lud, Sergeant Zebedee, what's that to do with it--I mean----"

"Everything, mam!"

"And why shouldn't I sleep? I've no bad conscience to wake me, thank
God."

"Then ye do sleep well?"

"Ye-es!"

"Then you ain't heard nor seen nothing toward the hour o'
midnight--footsteps, say?"

"Footsteps! O Lud--where?"

"Anywhere! You never have?"

"Never!"

"P'r'aps you don't believe in ghostes, mam, spectres, or
say--apparations?"

"I--I don't know. Why?"

"You've never happened to see a pale shape a-fluttering and a-flitting
by light o' moon?"

"Gracious me--no, Sergeant! You make me all of a shiver! Have you?"

"No, mam!"

"O cruel, to fright one so!"

"B