"That's right, anyhow--'ear! 'ear!" said the other eleven, quite heartily this time; and Peter desperately seized and emptied his glass of gin and water, and--pale as a sheet--slowly rose and buttoned his coat. As he did so, there resounded again, simultaneously, the howl of the yard dog and the death-cry of the screech-owl. Peter grinned a ghastly grin, wiped his brow, said tremulously, "Well--goo' night," and crawled out. Then Mr. Coffin removed his twinkle once more from the crane, and rose, and beamed round upon the company. "This _is_ a magnificent opportunity for the display of our contempt for superstition!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically. "If I remember rightly, it was on a Hallowe'en, just seven years ago, that the tramp hanged himself to that oak at the turn of the road--your way home, by the way, Mr. Armstrong. Yes, it _was_ Hallowe'en! How fortunate! And then there's Master George's groom who was thrown and broke his neck at the Squire's gate, and is said to haunt the avenue just inside so as to be seen from the road. Why, if he's to be seen _any_ night, he's safe to be about on Hallowe'en--and that's on _your_ road home, Mr. Billet; there's a chance for _you_! Then some of you have to cross the Low Meadow where old Meg was drowned, in the time of William the Fourth, and where the corpse-lights are to be seen, eh? Why, there's some fun for every one of you. There's the churchyard, too, with a lot of queer stories about it. Don't you remember about Joe Watts seeing that grey thing sitting on the grave that had been opened, no one knew how? "Capital! I'll tell you what. Just come into my place and finish the evening, and then you can all start off in time to pass those places exactly at midnight. Come along; and I'll start you all off at the right time." [Illustration: "SPRANG OUT UPON PERSONS PASSING BY."]