“Why, Robbie man, a kelpie is a beastie that’s no’ a beastie, being supernatural y’ken, and yet ’tis a beastie o’ sorts wi’ horns an’ hoofs, and no’ a healthy sicht for ony man.” “And wherefore not healthy, sir?” “Havers, man, because it is a kelpie, for sure! Johnnie man, I shall sleep wi’ my pistols handy this nicht, for, though carnal weapons be no good against bogles whateffer, more especially kelpies, there’s a deal o’ comfort in the feel o’ a pistol in your cloof.” CHAPTER XXVI CONCERNS ITSELF MAINLY WITH THE “MORNING AFTER” The sun’s kindly beams were gilding the age-worn old Cross and making it a thing of glory, for it was a golden morning. And, looking from his lattice, Sir John blinked drowsily in the warm radiance, though Alfriston had been long awake and full of cheery, leisured bustle. Borne to him on the fragrant air was a mingling of comfortable, homely sounds: the faint rattle of crockery, the clank of a pail, a snatch of song, voices raised in greeting, a faint, melodious whistling, with the clink of hammer and anvil. Indeed, the only silent object in the whole cheery place seemed to be the weatherbeaten old Cross itself. Alfriston was serenely awake; folk went about their business with a placid deliberation, or paused to exchange comments on weather, present and to come, on growing crops and things in general, but with never a word for the desperate doings of last night. True, Mr. Muddle, on his way to perform some mystery with the pitchfork he bore across his shoulder, limped noticeably in his gait, which was, as he very willingly explained, “Arl-on-’count-of-my ol’ mare as put ’er ’oof down ’pon my fut that ’ard as ’tis gurt mercy I can walk at arl——” Mr. Pursglove likewise exhibited a hand and forearm swathed in bandages which, he averred ... “moight ha’ been much worse, seein’ the bill-’ook I ’apped tu be a-usin’ of were so shaarp as a razor!” Also divers others of the community discovered upon their persons sundry bruises and abrasions, the which elicited little or no comment, for Alfriston, in its own gentle fashion, was very wide awake this morning. Thus Sir John, lolling at night-capped ease, looked down upon this placid, homely scene, hearkened to the soft-drawling, Sussex voices, breathed the fragrant air and felt that life was good. All at once he started, drew in his head with a jerk, and, snatching off his tasselled night-cap, peered from the secure shelter of the window-curtain. She stood looking up at the old Cross, a tall, stately creature, and yet, despite her stature, there was in every supple line of her, in the very folds of her simple habit, that same air of clean, rustic maidenliness that Sir John remembered so well.