dropped into church just before sarmon-time. There was a
rabbit squattin' outside 'pon his father's tombstone. Squire crep'
up an' clapped his Sunday hat 'pon top of en. Took en into church.
One o' the curate chaps was preachin'--a timorous little fellah.
By-'n'-by Squire slips out his rabbit. 'Wirroo, boys! Coorse en,
coorse en--we'll have en for dinner!' Aw, a pretty dido! The curate
fellah ran out to door an' the rabbit after en. Folks did say the
rabbit was the old Squire's soul, an' that he'd turned black inside
the young Squire's hat. Very stiff behaviour.

"He've had his own way too much; that's what it is. When he was
pricked for sheriff, he hired a ramshackle po'shay, painted a mule
'pon the panel, an' stuffed the footmen's stockings with bran till it
looked a case of dropsy. He was annoyed at bein' put to the expense.
The judge lost his temper at bein' met in such a way, an' pitched
into en in open court, specially about the mule. He didn't know
'twas the Squire's shield of arms. Squire stood it for some time;
but at last he ups an' says, 'If you was an old woman of _mine_, I'd
dress 'ee different; an' if you was an old woman of mine an' kep'
scolding like that, I'd have 'ee in the duckin'-stool for your
sauce!' He almost went to gaol for that. But they put it on the
ground the judge had insulted his shield of arms, an' so he got off.

"Well, wish-'ee-well! Don't you trouble about _he_. He've had his
own way too much, but he won't get it this time."

That night Taffy dreamt that he met Squire Moyle walking along the
shore; but the sand clogged him, and his spurs sank in it and his
riding-boots. When he was ankle deep he began to call out, "Pray for
me!" Then Taffy saw a black rabbit running on the firm sand to the
breakers; and the Squire cried "Pray for me! I must catch en!
'Tis my father's soul running off!" and put his hand into his breast
and drew out a stone and flung it. But the stone, as soon as it
touched the sand, turned into another rabbit, and the pair ran off
together along the shore. The old man tried to follow, but the sand
held him; and the tide was rising. . . .

CHAPTER IX.

ENTER THE KING'S POSTMAN.

A faint south wind murmured beneath the eaves. It died away, and for
an hour there was peace on the towans. Then the sands began to
trickle again, and the rushes to whisper and bend away from the sea,
toward the high moors over which the gulls had flown yesterd