about it than your old coat would care where it was thrown after you had
done with it."

He turned and regarded his coat where it hung beside him on the headstone
of the same grave at which he was working, shook his head with a smile that
seemed to hint a doubt whether the said old coat would be altogether so
indifferent to its treatment when, it was past use as I had implied. Then
he turned again to his work, and after a moment's silence began to approach
me from another side. I confess he had the better of me before I was aware
of what he was about.

"The church of Boscastle stands high on the cliff. You've been to
Boscastle, sir?"

I told him I had not yet, but hoped to go before the summer was over.

"Ah, you should see Boscastle, sir. It's a wonderful place. That's where I
was born, sir. When I was a by that church was haunted, sir. It's a damp
place, and the wind in it awful. I du believe it stand higher than any
church in the country, and have got more wind in it of a stormy night than
any church whatsomever. Well, they said it was haunted; and sure enough
every now and then there was a knocking heard down below. And this always
took place of a stormy night, as if there was some poor thing down in the
low wouts (_vaults_), and he wasn't comfortable and wanted to get out.
Well, one night it was so plain and so fearful it was that the sexton he
went and took the blacksmith and a ship's carpenter down to the harbour,
and they go up together, and they hearken all over the floor, and they open
one of the old family wouts that belongs to the Penhaligans, and they go
down with a light. Now the wind it was a-blowing all as usual, only worse
than common. And there to be sure what do they see but the wout half-full