uddenly this sentence, uttered
in the loud tones of Mr Sweet, sounded clearly in her ear: "And so the
Truslow ghost's been, seen again!" Biddy started; she could not help
quickening her steps, so that she soon got back again to the kitchen
door, where Mr Sweet's broad back was turned towards her. She could
not see Mrs Shivers, but she knew it was her voice that said:

"Jest as the clock strikes ten--crosses the Kennet at the end of the
field."

Biddy felt rooted to the spot. She must hear more about it, and she
glanced round to see if Mr Roy noticed where she was standing. No.
His earnest face and pursed-up mouth looked more engrossed than ever.
Neither of the speakers could see her, for between her and them there
was a small piece of thick yew hedge. So, secure in her wrong-doing,
Biddy lent an attentive ear and forgot her duty, the baby, and
everything else. She could hear every word.

"It's my belief," said Mrs Shivers, "and it's what I've always held to,
that it's one of them old Truslows, as was a wicked lot, come out of his
grave to see the place where he committed a crime. It's likely he
murdered some one in this very house, and that makes him oneasy. Some
gambling quarrel, I make no doubt it was, for they say you may see a
party of men playing cards in the drawing-room here any night after
twelve. It's only naturable to think it."

"Well," said Mr Peter Sweet reflectively, "I don't say as you mayn't be
right, for it do seem to come straight out of the churchyard as it were.
But what bothers me is, why it should go on all-fours. I don't suppose
them old Truslows were in the 'abit of doing that in their lifetime.
And then there's summat white on its head that flaps like a couple o'
large ears. What would that be?"

"That's hid from us," answered Mrs Shivers solemnly, "by the merciful
workings of Providence."

"It's never seen after it crosses the Kennet?" resumed Mr Sweet.

"No one ever _stops_ to see it," replied Mrs Shivers; "everyone's too
scared. Why," (in a lowered voice), "the last gal as was here she _met_
it as she was going with a message to the rectory. She jest turned and
rushed back to the house, and come into the kitchen in vi'lent
'isterricks."

"Very natural," said Mr Sweet approvingly. "Now, what does the curate
think on it?"

"Oh, he jest laughs," said Mrs Shivers rather contemptuously. "You
know his way. But Mrs Roy, I can see she's timid about it, though she
won't hea