ht need it. But settin' that aside. D'ye believe or--_do_
ye?'

'I ain't sayin' nothin', because I've heard naught, an' I've seen naught.
But if you was to say there was more things after dark in the shaws than
men, or fur, or feather, or fin, I dunno as I'd go farabout to call you a
liar. Now turn again, Tom. What's your say?'

'I'm like you. I say nothin'. But I'll tell you a tale, an' you can fit it
_as_ how you please.'

'Passel o' no-sense stuff,' growled Hobden, but he filled his pipe.

'The Marsh men they call it Dymchurch Flit,' Tom went on slowly. 'Hap
you've heard it?'

'My woman she've told it me scores o' times. Dunno as I didn't end by
belieft in' it--sometimes.'

Hobden crossed over as he spoke, and sucked with his pipe at the yellow
lanthorn-flame. Tom rested one great elbow on one great knee, where he sat
among the coal.

'Have you ever bin in the Marsh?' he said to Dan.

'Only as far as Rye, once,' Dan answered.

'Ah, that's but the edge. Back behind of her there's steeples settin'
beside churches, an' wise women settin' beside their doors, an' the sea
settin' above the land, an' ducks herdin' wild in the diks' (he meant
ditches). 'The Marsh is justabout riddled with diks an' sluices, an'
tide-gates an' water-lets. You can hear em' bubblin' an' grummelin' when
the tide works in em', an' then you hear the sea rangin' left and
right-handed all up along the Wall. You've seen how flat she is--the Marsh?
You'd think nothin' easier than to walk eend-on acrost her? Ah, but the
diks an' the water-lets, they twists the roads about as ravelly as
witch-yarn on the spindles. So ye get all turned round in broad daylight.'

'That's because they've dreened the waters into the diks,' said Hobden.
'When I courted my woman the rushes was green--Eh me! the rushes was
green--an' the Bailiff o' the Marshes, he rode up and down as free as the
fog.'

'Who was he?' said Dan.

'Why, the Marsh fever an' ague. He've clapped me on the shoulder once or
twice till I shook proper. But now the dreenin' off of the waters have
done away with the fevers; so they make a joke, like, that the Bailiff o'
the Marshes broke his neck in a dik. A won'erful place for bees an' ducks
'tis too.'

'An' old!' Tom went on. 'Flesh an' Blood have been there since Time
Everlastin' Beyond. Well, now, speakin' among themselves, the Marshmen say
that from Time Everlastin' Beyond the Pharisees favoured the Marsh above
the rest of Old England.