"There was about nine of 'em coming along, some fast as if racing each other, some slow, but creeping on, and overtaking the others that was going too fast, and fell over on the elbow-joint, when up went hand and shoulder kicking in the air like a beetle on his back. My grandfather felt that now sartainly he'd have news to tell his old woman. Presently a lot of the arms was about the step to the church porch, shy-like, not knowing whether to come in or no--some standing up on the shoulder and poking the hands in, some curlin' of themselves up on the step, as a-going to sleep, and some staggering about anyways. At last one of the boldest of them made a jump, and came down on my grandfather's knee, and sat there, with the shoulder part on his knee, like as a limpet fastens on a rock, or the end of a barnacle on a log of wood, and there it sat and curled itself about, and turned the hand just as it saw out of the nails--which was very white, and served as eyes. It was curious, my grandfather said, to see the fingers curling one over the other, just as a fly preens its wings. My granfer' couldn't make it out at first, till at last he saw it was pulling and picking at a gold ring on the last finger but one. It was a very broad ring--and directly my granfer' knowed it, and said, 'Why, blazes!' said he, 'that's Mistress Cake's wedding ring!' And no sooner had he said that, than the arm jumped off his knee and went on to the church door, and he saw it no more. Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, that Mistress Cake, of Wringworthy, died a month later of the falling sickness. But he had not a moment for consideration, as in came another arm, that stood at his foot bowing to him with the hand, and then patting him on the shin. This arm didn't like to seem to make so bold as to come up and sit on his knee, so my granfer stooped and looked at it. It stood up on the shoulder, and it had very strong muscles; but rather stiff, they seemed, wi' age, for they cracked like when the arm bent itself about, which it did in a slow and clumsy fashion. 'Twas a brown arm, too, and not white, like Madam Cake's; and the hand was big, and broad, and hairy, and it turned itself over and showed the palm, and then it held up one finger after another, which was all covered with warts. Then my granfer said, 'Lor' bless and deliver! but this be the hand of Ploughman Gale!' And, sure enough, I reckon it was. It seemed quite satisfied, and folded itself up, and made a spring like a cricket--went out of sight to the church door." "I should like to know how your grandfather saw all this," said Anthony Cleverdon, "if it was, as you say, a dark night, and it was in the church porch?" "No interfering!" exclaimed Mr. Gibbs. "You've forfeited. Here's your glass, Master Cudlip. Go on."