"Nay, I'll stand. But sit ye down, sir; ye look but poorly. Ay? Ye'll maybe have had a _warstle_ wi' him yersell. Eh--ay? John saw him, here on t' brig. He held to it--at his death, and said 'twas a warning. Eh dear--he never took it!" "Did you ever see him yourself?" asked Guy. "Nay--I never saw un; the Lord's left un no room. Eh, sir, have ye got religion?" "Not quite," said Guy. "Eh, sir, ye mun get it; ye're the sort to need it." "I do," said Guy; "that's so." "Sithee," said the old woman, resting the basket she carried on the wall, and dropping the tone of honest pride with which she had spoken of her family's share in the Waynflete ghost, for a coaxing whisper, "sithee, Mr Waynflete. There's my lad; he's a bit soft is Jemmy; but he can do a job of work; he can use a besom wi' the best, and he've fettled up t' kirk for t' oud sexton, and pu'd t' bell and fetched t' watter for t' christenings, these twenty year. But this 'ere vicar he's a stranger. Now, Mr Waynflete, canna' ye speak a word for my lad, t' last Outhwaite as Waynflete'll ever see. T' vicar, he knows nought o' Waynflete, and 'twas from the Glory Hallelujah men I got salvation. But 'tis all the same, sithee, t' kirk's never opened without my Jem, and I doubt na the Lord speaks to his saul. Eh, here a be; I've been a looking for him. He's feared to cross t' brig by 'issell. There's no telling, there's no telling, sir, what t' ow'd Guy may have done to him." Jem, still with the weird boyishness that often clings to those of imperfect intellect, came shambling down the path from the Dragon. "T' pony's shod," he said, in a high, cracked voice, as he came in sight. "Thanks," said Guy, moving. "Good day to you, Mrs Outhwaite; I'll see the vicar." The sunny valley had lost its smile, and for the moment Guy yielded to his sudden sense of shrinking distaste, and hurried on without a backward glance. This burlesque of his most inward and individual experience gave him a new sensation. He took his pony, and rode on up the hill to the church, where the vicar was watching the placing of the new grey slabs of stone, in place of the broken ones on the high-pitched roof. Guy tied up his pony, and sitting down on a flat tombstone, looked on also. "Peter cast a shoe," he said; "and Mrs Outhwaite has been pleading for Jem's place as second grave-digger." "Oh, of course, one must let him literally `fool around' as long as he can. His mother is pretty much of a Ranter; but so is every one here with any religion. How else would they have got it? She watches over poor Jemmy. Now and then he gets drunk at the Dragon. It'll be a good day for him when we close it. He's a nervous, timid creature; I've seen him shiver and shake sometimes in a way that was pitiful." "The mother says t' owd Guy scared him."