Turning sharp round, I beheld a very ancient man in a smock
frock, who carried a basket on one arm, and leaned upon a stick.
"Yes," I answered; "I was wondering how it came to be built in
such an out-of-the-world spot."
"Why, 't were built by a wanderin' man o' the roads."
"It's very lonely!" said I.
"Ye may well say so, sir--haunted it be, tu."
"Haunted?" said I.
"Haunted as ever was!" answered the old man, with a sprightly nod
strangely contrasting with his wrinkled face and tremulous limbs.
"No one ventur's nigh the place arter dark, an' few enough in the
daytime, for that matter."
"On account of the ghost?"
"Ah!" nodded the Ancient, "moans 'e du, an' likewise groans.
Theer's some as says 'e twitters tu, an' shakes chains."
"Then nobody has lived here of late?"
"Bless 'ee no--nor wouldn't, no, not if ye paid 'em tu. Nobody's
come a-nigh the place, you may say, since 't were built by the
wanderin' man. Lived 'ere all alone, 'e did--killed 'isself 'ere
likewise."
"Killed himself!" said I.
"Ah--! 'ung 'isself--be'ind th' door yonder, sixty an' six year
ago come August, an' 't were me as found 'im. Ye see," said the
old man, setting down his basket, and seating himself with great
nicety on the moss-grown doorstep, "ye see, 't were a tur'ble
storm that night--rain, and wind, wi' every now an' then a gert,
cracklin' flame o' lightnin'. I mind I'd been up to th' farm
a-courtin' o' Nancy Brent--she 'm dead now, poor lass, years an'
years ago, but she were a fine, buxom maid in those days, d'ye
see. Well, I were comin' 'ome, and what wi' one thing an' another,
I lost my way. An' presently, as I were stumblin' along in the
dark, comes another crackle o' lightnin', an' lookin' up, what
should I see but this 'ere cottage. 'T were newer-lookin' then,
wi' a door an' winders, but the door was shut an' the winders
was dark--so theer I stood in the rain, not likin' to disturb the
stranger, for 'e were a gert, fierce, unfriendly kind o' chap, an'
uncommon fond o' bein' left alone. Hows'ever, arter a while, up I
goes to th' door, an' knocks (for I were a gert, strong, strappin',
well-lookin' figure o' a man myself, in those days, d'ye see, an'
could give a good buffet an' tak one tu), so up I goes to th' door,
an' knocks wi' my fist clenched, all ready (an' a tidy, sizable
fist it were in those days) but Lord! nobody answered, so, at last,
I lifted the latch." Here the Ancient paused to draw a snuff-box
from his pocket, with great deliberation, noting my awakened
interest with a twinkling eye.