house—I hailed him, and begged him to look
out for a book which I expected that night.
It was Smollett's Peregrine Pickle, of which I
had once read a part, and was very anxious
to read the rest.

"Ay, ay, sir," said the old man. " If the
next man brings it the first time we meet, I'll
send it on at once."

"Thank you, Martin," said I. " Your
watch is Borsted way to-night, isn't it? I'll
walk a little way with you."

"I can't lag, Mister John," said the old
man: " but if you don't mind walking,
I'll thank you for your company. It's nigh
three miles from here to the beginning of my
beat, and I must get there before dark."

"How many men are there between here
and you, Martin?"

"Two, sir."

"And between you and the captain's?"

"One, sir."

"Have you got your port-fire all right?"
He pulled it out of his coat pocket, showed it
to me, and put it back again. " I shall look out
for blue stars your way, to-night, Martin,"
said I, " now I know your walk lies along by
the old church wall again."

I saw something very curious there last
night," said he, dropping his voice.

"Nothing that left another scar like that
on your head, I hope."

"No, sir. It was no man nor woman either
this time. It was a strong light, moving among
the old tombs; so bright, that I could see
every blade of grass, and sprig of nettle where
it rested a moment. I stood and looked over
the wall, and watched it creeping about from
mound to mound, and resting in corners, and
running about the broken wall; till, all of a
moment, I missed it, and it never came back
again."

"But didn't you get over the wall to see
what it was?"

"I should as soon think of raking in a pond
after the moon."

"Why? What do you suppose it was?"

"I don't know: but I know what my poor
old mother would have said, if she had been
alive."

"What would she have said?"

"That no man that sees that ever lives
long. She would have called it a corpse
candle."

"Pooh! I'll tell you what it was. Some
fellows who know there's no chance with you
in a tussle, have heard of your weak side, and
determined to try what a trick will do.
Depend upon it, it was only the light from
some dark lantern, with which they tried to
mystify you, while they were getting clear off
with some brandy keg near by. It's a common
trick that."

"If I thought so," said the old man, waxing
indignant at the bare supposition of his
having been taken in, " they should pay for it
next time."

"I dare say they won't try it again yet
awhile," said I; " but when they do, just
spring over the wall, and give 'em a shot
where you think they're likely to be. I leave
you here. Good night."

"Good night, sir," said the old man; and
I shook hands with him.

I looked after him as he walked along the
beach, till I could not see him any longer; for
it was beginning to get dusk. I was alone that
night, my uncle being gone to Framlingham
to spend the evening with a friend there. I
took tea by firelight in my uncle's room, and
sat for some time afterwards musing and
listening to the roar of the tide coming in on the
beach, which I could smell in the room. There
was hardly any wind abroad; but the night
was dark, for there was no moon up, and the
sky was rather cloudy. I began to get
impatient for the book; and when I heard the
house clock strike seven (which was about the
time I expected it) I put on my hat, and
walked down the beach, to meet the boatman
coming in. I walked on for half a mile
before I met him, when, to my disappointment,
I found that he had not got the book.
"His comrade had not spoken to him about
it," he said; but he could not tell me whether
he had seen old Martin or not. I did not care
to go back then without the book. I resolved
to go on until I met the next man, in the hope
of hearing some tidings of it: and so I bade
him " good night," and kept on along the
beach. There is always some light near the
water on the darkest night, and I could see
very well to pick my way over the shingle till
I came to a part where the walking became
difficult, and I was glad to find a place to
mount on to the sand cliff. As I ascended,
the large full moon seemed to rise slowly out
of the sea, just under the line of the clouds.
I stood awhile, leaning on the wooden rail
near the edge of the cliff, and watching the
broad, undulating line of yellow light upon
the surface of the waters. I was near a little
fishing village, and I was not surprised to
hear the voices of some people who were
walking on the road, not far behind me. I
did not listen to what they said; but as they
came nearer, I suddenly caught the words,

"Peerigryne Pickle."

"What? " said a voice that sounded like a
woman's.

"Peerigryne Pickle," repeated her
companion louder than before. " It's the name
of somebody, can't you understand?"

The woman laughed loudly, and I could not
catch what followed, for they were too far now
for me to hear their words distinctly. I looked
back, and saw that the man was a tinker,
for he carried a coal fire in an old saucepan,
which was blazing and smoking out of holes
in the side, as he swang it to and fro beside
him. I stood looking after them, and
wondering at the strangeness of the coincidence,
till I lost their voices altogether, and they
disappeared down a descent in the road. It
struck me at first that one of the men might