aid, 'it is
sweet and strong, and sets the heart at ease. And now get the
backgammon-board, John, and set it for us on the table.' So they fell to
the game, and I took a sly sip at the liquor, but nearly choked myself,
not being used to strong waters, and finding it heady and burning in the
throat. Neither man spoke, and there was no sound except the constant
rattle of the dice, and the rubbing of the pieces being moved across the
board. Now and then one of the players stopped to light his pipe, and at
the end of a game they scored their totals on the table with a bit of
chalk. So I watched them for an hour, knowing the game myself, and being
interested at seeing Elzevir's backgammon-board, which I had heard talked
of before.

It had formed part of the furniture of the Why Not? for generations of
landlords, and served perhaps to pass time for cavaliers of the Civil
Wars. All was of oak, black and polished, board, dice-boxes, and men, but
round the edge ran a Latin inscription inlaid in light wood, which I read
on that first evening, but did not understand till Mr. Glennie translated
it to me. I had cause to remember it afterwards, so I shall set it down
here in Latin for those who know that tongue, _Ita in vita ut in lusu
alae pessima jactura arte corrigenda est_, and in English as Mr. Glennie
translated it, _As in life, so in a game of hazard, skill will make
something of the worst of throws_. At last Elzevir looked up and spoke
to me, not unkindly, 'Lad, it is time for you to go home; men say that
Blackbeard walks on the first nights of winter, and some have met him
face to face betwixt this house and yours.' I saw he wanted to be rid of
me, so bade them both good night, and was off home, running all the way
thither, though not from any fear of Blackbeard, for Ratsey had often
told me that there was no chance of meeting him unless one passed the
churchyard by night.

Blackbeard was one of the Mohunes who had died a century back, and was
buried in the vault under the church, with others of his family, but
could not rest there, whether, as some said, because he was always
looking for a lost treasure, or as others, because of his exceeding
wickedness in life. If this last were the true reason, he must have been
bad indeed, for Mohunes have died before and since his day wicked enough
to bear anyone company in their vault or elsewhere. Men would have it
that on dark winter nights Blackbeard might be seen with an old-fashi