"There's some mistake," ses Mrs. Burtenshaw, in a voice that could ha'
been 'eard through arf-a-dozen beds easy. "It must ha' been lost in the
post. It must ha' been."

She was silent for a few seconds, then she ses, "All right," she ses,
"I'll bring it myself, then, by hand every week. No, Bill sha'n't come;
I'll promise that for 'im. Do go away; he might put his 'ead up at any
moment."

She began to gasp and sob, and Bill began to think wot a good wife he 'ad
got, when he felt 'er put a couple of pillers over where she judged his
'ead to be, and hold 'em down with her arm.

"Thank you, Mr. Winch," she ses, very loud. "Thank you. Good-by,
Good-by."

She began to quieten down a bit, although little sobs, like wimmen use
when they pretend that they want to leave off crying but can't, kept
breaking out of 'er. Then, by and by, she quieted down altogether and a
husky voice from near the foot of the bed ses: "Has it gorn?"

"Oh, Bill," she ses, with another sob, "I've seen the ghost!"

"Has it gorn?" ses Bill, agin.

"Yes, it's gorn," ses his wife, shivering. "Oh, Bill, it stood at the
foot of the bed looking at me, with its face and 'ands all shiny white,
and damp curls on its forehead. Oh!"