“Not half as much as I was, but you can assure them that I am delighted they came.  It’s as nice a house as one could wish for, and if you can arrange the meals all right I’ll not trouble them in the least.  How long are they going to stay?”

“They are like you.  They do not know.  It may be a month, it may be more.”

“Oh well, I’ll keep out of their way as much as possible.  People who come to Sark come to be quiet, I expect.  Don’t trouble about coffee tonight, Mrs. Carre.  I shall just have a smoke and then turn in.  I’m tired but and I want a good night’s rest.”

“Ah yess.  Well, you will tek Punch to-night, and then you will hear no ghosts.”

The sky was still softly suffused with the clear rose and amber of the sunset when he leaned over the wall, as he filled his pipe, and looked out into the darkening road.

“Har-Heri!  Que-hou-hou!” croaked a hoarse little voice in the hedge opposite.

“Hello, Johnnie-boy!  That you?”

“Where you bin te-day?”

“Where have I been?  Down in Little Sark, prowling about the mines, stealing lumps of silver——­”

“Godzamin!  They an’t any silver now.”

“No?  All right, my son.  Then I’m telling you fibs.”

“Show me.”

“Ah, I don’t carry it about with me.”

“An’t got any.”  And presently, as Graeme lit up, without deigning any answer,—­“I seen a ghost las’ night.”

“Clever boy!  What did you make out of it?”

“’Twas the ghost of old Tom Hamon’s father.  Was all white and dead-like.”

“You’re too previous, Johnnie.  He’s getting better.”

“He’s a-goin’ to die.”

“So are you sometime.”

“No, I a’n’t.  Show me ’at silver.”

“Sometime, perhaps, if you ask nicely.  I’m going to bed now.  Come along, Punch!  Goodnight, Johnnie!  Keep your eyes skinned for ghosts.  Capital night for them, I should say,” and he went off up the garden, with Punch stalking solemnly alongside.

And Johnnie Vautrin erected himself on his hands and haunches to see where he was going, while the vivacious Scamp, shut up in the wood-house and bereft of his bedfellow, and doubtless fearful of ghosts in every nerve of his quivering little body, rent the still night with his expostulations, as he heard them go past.

The scent of the pipe was lingering still in the forecourt when the ladies turned in out of the road, and they just caught a glimpse of the smoker disappearing through the gap in the hedge.

“Ah-ha!  There goes the Bogey-Man!” said Miss Hen.  “Does this dear little dog carry on this way all through the night, Mrs. Carre?”

“It iss becos the gentleman hass tekken Punch up to the house to kip away the ghosts,” smiled Mrs. Carre.

“I should say this one would have been of more use.”

“He will be quiet soon.  Scamp, bad beast, be qui-et!  A couche!”