“What was it like?—­no, don’t—­”

“A red one.  Yes, most ghosts be white; but this is as if it had been dipped in blood.”

Christian drew a deep breath without letting it expand his body, and Humphrey said, “Where has it been seen?”

“Not exactly here; but in this same heth.  But ’tisn’t a thing to talk about.  What do ye say,” continued Fairway in brisker tones, and turning upon them as if the idea had not been Grandfer Cantle’s—­“what do you say to giving the new man and wife a bit of a song to-night afore we go to bed—­being their wedding-day?  When folks are just married ’tis as well to look glad o’t, since looking sorry won’t unjoin ’em.  I am no drinker, as we know, but when the womenfolk and youngsters have gone home we can drop down across to the Quiet Woman, and strike up a ballet in front of the married folks’ door.  ’Twill please the young wife, and that’s what I should like to do, for many’s the skinful I’ve had at her hands when she lived with her aunt at Blooms-End.”

“Hey?  And so we will!” said Grandfer Cantle, turning so briskly that his copper seals swung extravagantly.  “I’m as dry as a kex with biding up here in the wind, and I haven’t seen the colour of drink since nammet-time today.  ’Tis said that the last brew at the Woman is very pretty drinking.  And, neighbours, if we should be a little late in the finishing, why, tomorrow’s Sunday, and we can sleep it off?”

“Grandfer Cantle! you take things very careless for an old man,” said the wide woman.

“I take things careless; I do—­too careless to please the women!  Klk!  I’ll sing the ‘Jovial Crew,’ or any other song, when a weak old man would cry his eyes out.  Jown it; I am up for anything.

   “The king’ look’d o’ver his left’ shoul-der’,
      And a grim’ look look’-ed hee’,
    Earl Mar’-shal, he said’, but for’ my oath’
      Or hang’-ed thou’ shouldst bee’.”

“Well, that’s what we’ll do,” said Fairway.  “We’ll give ’em a song, an’ it please the Lord.  What’s the good of Thomasin’s cousin Clym a-coming home after the deed’s done?  He should have come afore, if so be he wanted to stop it, and marry her himself.”

“Perhaps he’s coming to bide with his mother a little time, as she must feel lonely now the maid’s gone.”

“Now, ’tis very odd, but I never feel lonely—­no, not at all,” said Grandfer Cantle.  “I am as brave in the night-time as a’ admiral!”

The bonfire was by this time beginning to sink low, for the fuel had not been of that substantial sort which can support a blaze long.  Most of the other fires within the wide horizon were also dwindling weak.  Attentive observation of their brightness, colour, and length of existence would have revealed the quality of the material burnt, and through that, to some extent the natural produce of the district in which each bonfire was situate.  The clear, kingly effulgence that had characterized the majority