lling me to go away, because you didn't want me here."

She stamped her foot; then looked up at Ashurst. At that adoring look
he felt his nerves quiver, just as if he had seen a moth scorching its
wings.

"To-night!" he said. "Don't forget!"

"No." And smothering her face against the puppy's little fat, brown
body, she slipped back into the house.

Ashurst wandered down the lane. At the gate of the wild meadow he came
on the lame man and his cows.

"Beautiful day, Jim!"

"Ah! 'Tes brave weather for the grass. The ashes be later than th' oaks
this year. 'When th' oak before th' ash---'"

Ashurst said idly: "Where were you standing when you saw the gipsy
bogie, Jim?"

"It might be under that big apple tree, as you might say."

"And you really do think it was there?"

The lame man answered cautiously:

"I shouldn't like to say rightly that 't was there. 'Twas in my mind as
'twas there."

"What do you make of it?"

The lame man lowered his voice.

"They du zay old master, Mist' Narracombe come o' gipsy stock. But
that's tellin'. They'm a wonderful people, yu know, for claimin'
their own. Maybe they knu 'e was goin', and sent this feller along for
company. That's what I've a-thought about it."

"What was he like?"

"'E 'ad 'air all over 'is face, an' goin' like this, he was, zame as
if 'e 'ad a viddle. They zay there's no such thing as bogies, but I've
a-zeen the 'air on this dog standin' up of a dark naight, when I couldn'
zee nothin', meself."

"Was there a moon?"

"Yeas, very near full, but 'twas on'y just risen, gold-like be'ind them
trees."

"And you think a ghost means trouble, do you?"

The lame man pushed his hat up; his aspiring eyes looked at Ashurst more
earnestly than ever.

"'Tes not for me to zay that but 'tes they bein' so unrestin'like.
There's things us don' understand, that's zartin, for zure. There's
people that zee things, tu, an' others that don't never zee nothin'.
Now, our Joe--yu might putt anything under'is eyes an e'd never zee it;
and them other boys, tu, they'm rattlin' fellers. But yu take an' putt
our Megan where there's suthin', she'll zee it, an' more tu, or I'm
mistaken."

"She's sensitive, that's why."

"What's that?"

"I mean, she feels everything."

"Ah! She'm very lovin'-'earted."

Ashurst, who felt colour coming into his cheeks, held out his tobacco
pouch.

"Have a fill, Jim?"

"Thank 'ee, sir. She'm one in an 'underd, I think."

"I expect so,"