"If it hadn't been for that Jenkins's folly, fancying he saw a light in
the burying-ground, and me turning round to order him to come on, it
might not have happened," grumbled Ketch, as they wound round the
cloisters.

"A light in the burial-ground!" hastily repeated the bishop. "What
light?"

"Oh, a corpse-candle, or some nonsense of that sort, he had his mind
running on, my lord. Half the world is idiots, and Jenkins is the
biggest of 'em."

"My lord," spoke poor Jenkins, deprecatingly, "I never had such a
thought within me as that it was a 'corpse-candle.' I said I fancied it
might be a glowworm. And I believe it was one, my lord."

"A more sensible thought than the other," observed the prelate.

Luck at last! The door was found to be unlocked. It was a low narrow
door, only used on the very rare occasion of a funeral, and was
situated in a shady, out-of-the-way nook, where no one ever thought of
looking. "Oh, come, this is something!" cried the bishop, cheerily, as
he stepped into the cathedral.

"And your lordship now sees what fine careless sextons we have got!"
struck in Ketch.

"We must overlook their carelessness this time, in consideration of the
service it renders us," said the bishop, in a kindly tone. "Take care
of the pillars, Ketch."