ok into the matter. My grandfather he
took across in the boat with him, to look after the parcels and help
them up to the Vicarage: and on the way they talked about a grave
that my grandfather had been digging--he being sexton and parish
clerk, as well as constable and the Parson's right-hand man, as you
might call it, in all public matters.

While they discoursed, Mrs. Polwhele was taking a look about her to
make sure the country hadn't altered while she was away at Plymouth.
And by and by she cries out:

"Why, my love, whatever are these dabs o' white stuck up and down the
foreshore?"

The Parson takes a look at my grandfather before answering:
"My angel, to tell you the truth, that's more than we know."

"Richard, you're concealing something from me," said Mrs. Polwhele.
"If the French have landed and I'm going home to be burnt in my bed,
it shall be with my eyes open."

"My dear Mary," the Parson argued, "you've a-got the French on your
brain. If the French landed they wouldn't begin by sticking dabs of
whitewash all over the parish; now, would they?"

"How in the world should I know what a lot of Papists would do or not
do?" she answered. "'Tis no more foolish to my mind than eating
frogs or kissing a man's toe."

Well, say what the Parson would, the notion had fixed itself in the
poor lady's head. Three times that night she woke in the bed with
her curl-papers crackling for very fright; and the fourth time 'twas
at the sound of a real dido below stairs. Some person was down by
the back door knocking and rattling upon it with all his might.

The sun had been up for maybe an hour--the time of year, as I told
you, being near about mid-summer--and the Parson, that never wanted
for pluck, jumped out and into his breeches in a twinkling, while his
wife pulled the counterpane over her head. Down along the passage he
skipped to a little window opening over the back porch.

"Who's there!" he called, and out from the porch stepped my
grandfather, that had risen early and gone to the churchyard to
finish digging the grave before breakfast. "Why, what on the earth
is wrong with ye? I made sure the French had landed, at the least."

"Couldn't be much worse if they had," said my grandfather.
"Some person 've a-stole my shovel, pick, and biddicks."

"Nonsense!" said the Parson.

"The corpse won't find it nonsense, Sir, if I don't get 'em back in
time. I left 'em lying, all three, at the bottom of the grav