"And he did gimma a goud pound and I went aff to Lexhoe about an hour
after, and sa hame by the stage-coach, and fain was I to be at hame
again; and I never sid Dame Crowl o' Applewale, God be thanked, either
in appearance or in dream, at-efter. But when I was grown to be a
woman, my aunt spent a day and night wi' me at Littleham, and she telt
me there was no doubt it was the poor little boy that was missing sa
lang sen, that was shut up to die thar in the dark by that wicked
beldame, whar his skirls, or his prayers, or his thumpin' cud na be
heard, and his hat was left by the water's edge, whoever did it, to
mak' belief he was drowned. The clothes, at the first touch, a' ran
into a snuff o' dust in the cell whar the bayans was found. But there
was a handful o' jet buttons, and a knife with a green heft, together
wi' a couple o' pennies the poor little fella had in his pocket, I
suppose, when he was decoyed in thar, and sid his last o' the light.
And there was, amang the squire's papers, a copy o' the notice that
was prented after he was lost, when the ald squire thought he might 'a
run away, or bin took by gipsies, and it said he had a green-hefted
knife wi' him, and that his buttons were o' cut jet. Sa that is a' I
hev to say consarnin' ald Dame Crowl, o' Applewale House."




THE DEAD SEXTON


The sunsets were red, the nights were long, and the weather pleasantly
frosty; and Christmas, the glorious herald of the New Year, was at
hand, when an event--still recounted by winter firesides, with a
horror made delightful by the mellowing influence of years--occurred