"Menhennick, sir; George Menhennick--and this is Tresaher Farm.
Bad characters, sir? I hope not. We keep no highway robbers in this
parish."

He faced us, rush-lamp in hand, in his great vaulted kitchen, and the
light fell on an honest, puzzled face. As for Mr. Noy's face, I regret to
say that it fell when he heard this vindication of his flock.

"I brought ye into the kitchen, sirs," went on Farmer Menhennick,
"because 'tis cosier. We keep a fire banked up here all night."
He bent to revive it, but desisted as his wife entered with one of the
house-wenches, and gave them orders to light a lamp, fetch a billet or two
of wood, and make the place cheerful.

My face, I daresay, and the news of the robbery, scared the two women, who
went about their work at once with a commendable quietness. But I think
it was a whisper from the maidservant which caused the farmer to
ejaculate, as he helped me to a chair:

"And you've walked across Blackadon Down at this hour of night! My word,
sirs, and saving your reverence, but you had a nerve, if you'd only known
it!"

"Why, what's the matter with Blackadon?" asked Mr. Noy sharply.

Farmer Menhennick faced him with a deprecatory grin.

"Nothing, sir--leastways, nothing more than old woman's tales, not worth a
man's heeding."

"Has it by chance," said I, "anything to do with a hearse?"

"A hearse!" Mr. Noy stared at me, and then his eye fell on the farmer,
who had been helping to unbutton my tunic, but was now drawn back a pace
from me with amazement written all over his honest face. "A hearse?"
repeated Mr. Noy.

"Why, however--" began the farmer, with his eyes slowly widening.

"A hearse," said I, "with black nodding plumes and (I believe) a headless
driver. Let me see--" I began to hum the air sung by Jim the guard:--

"The wheels go round without a sound--"

The two women had dropped their work and stood peering at me, the pair of
them quaking.

"He's seen it--he's seen it!" gasped the farmer's wife.

"A hearse?" cried Mr. Noy once more, and this time almost in a scream.
"When? where?"

"On Blackadon Down, sir," answered Mr. Menhennick. "'Tis an old story
that the moor's haunted, and folks have been putting it round that the
thing's been seen two or three times lately. But there--'tis nothing to
pay any heed to."

"Oh, isn't it!"

"You understand, sir, 'tisn't a _real_ hearse--"

"Oh, isn't it!" repeated Mr. Noy in scorn.

"And _you_, sir-