“Why, I thought so myself,” said Morris, in a tone of discontent at having to succumb to the general belief. “But it isn’t ‘listenin’,’ as you say. It’s _seein’_; and ’seein’s believin’,’ all the world round. I tell you that I saw it last night about twelve o’clock, and I’ve not got over it yet, and never shall, I doubt, for I was frightened out of my seven senses.” “Ha, ha! Ah fancy you must ha’e left all seven on ’em at yam. Ah’s of opinion ’at it’s only fooaks ’at’s letten their wits gan wool-getherin’ ’at sees that sooart o’ cattle. Ah’ve been up an’ doon this neighbourhood for weel-nigh seventy year, an’ aud Balaam there’s been wi’ ma’ meeast o’ t’ tahme; an’ ah’ve niwer seen nowt na warse then him, an’ he’s niwer seen nowt mair awful then me. Balaam! hez thoo ivver seen a boggle?” Whatever may have been the cause of the coincidence, it is true that, at that moment, Balaam was taken with one of those odd cantrips peculiar to his tribe. He cocked his ears, set his tail on end, and giving vent to a loud and continuous hee-ho that made the welkin ring, he galloped round and round, as if in vigorous protest against the sweeping scepticism of his matter-of-fact proprietor. “There,” said Piggy Morris, with a sarcastic grin, “even your donkey rebukes your unreasonable want of faith, and looks for all the world as though he saw a ghost this minute.” “Why,” said Adam laughing, “he _diz_ seeam te differ fre’ ma’ in his judgment; but what can yo’ expect frev a donkey? Mebbe,” and this with a humorous twinkle in his eye, “it’s gi’en te hasses te see ghausts an’ te donkeys te beleeave in ’em; but I isn’t gannin’ te pin mah faith te what they can testify, you may depend on’t.” Piggy Morris was very irate at the uncomplimentary imputation. “Donkeys here or donkeys there,” said he, “I tell you that I went o’ purpose to see for myself, because I would not believe what folks said.” “Why, if yo went te leeak for it, it isn’t mitch wunder ’at yo’ fun’ it. It was i’ ye’r fancy an’ ye’r een afoore yo’ went. An’ as yo’ teeak it wi’ yo’, it wad ha’e been a wunder if yo’ hadn’t catch’d a glint on’t. Maister Morris! if yo’ wad nobbut gi’e ye’r heart te God, that’ll lay all t’ ghausts i’ t’ wolld i’ t’ Rid Sea!” “Nonsense,” said Piggy Morris, who did not mind the practical turn the conversation was taking. Mounting his cart, he drove off to Kesterton Market to dispose of his porkers, and to tell his nocturnal adventures to more credulous hearers in the infragrant bar-room of the Cowley Arms. Adam Olliver picked up his slashing-knife and hedging-gloves, and mounting that disciple of spiritualism, his four-footed retainer, he cantered homeward, saying,-- “Balaam! If there is a ghaust, as thoo seeams te think, thoo an’ me mun see it, an’ ah promise tha’ ’at if thoo dizn’t run away, ah weean’t, an’ we’ll hev a crack o’ talk wi’ Sister Agatha’s ghaust.”