"It was nothing of the sort as a tombstone," said the old lady with
dignity. "It's a good half-mile from the churchyard. And as to white
petticoats, there wasn't a female in the house; he wouldn't have one;
and his victuals came in by the pantry window. But never mind! Though
it's as true as a sermon."

Johnnie lifted his head from his brother's knee.

"Let Granny tell what she likes, Tommy. It's a new ghost, and I should
like to know who he was, and why his victuals came in by the window."

"I don't like a story about victuals," sulked Tommy. "It makes me think
of the bread. O Granny dear! do tell us a fairy story. You never will
tell us about the Fairies, and I know you know."

"Hush! hush!" said the old lady. "There's Miss Surbiton's Love-letter,
and her Dreadful End."

"I know Miss Surbiton, Granny. I think she was a goose. Why don't you
tell us about the Fairies?"

"Hush! hush! my dear. There's the Clerk and the Corpse-candles."

"I know the Corpse-candles, Granny. Besides, they make Johnnie dream,
and he wakes me to keep him company. _Why_ won't you tell us about
the Fairies?"

"My dear, they don't like it," said the old lady.