The Argosy — page 383: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Tite aon Watching on St. Mark's Eve. 361 Goody Picker was thought well of at our house, and came up occa- sionally to have tea in the nursery with Hannah. I was well by Monday ; nothing but a bit of a cough left; and Tod and I looked forward to the night’s fun. Not a word had we heard since; but we had seen the two women-servants whispering together whenever they got the chance; and so we knew they were going. What Tod meant to do, he wouldn’t tell me; I think he hardly knew himself. The big turnips were all gone, or he might have scooped one out for a death’s head and stuck it on the gate-post, with a candle in if. The night came. A clear night, with a miserable moon. Miserable for our sport, because it was so bright. ‘“‘A pitch-dark night would have had some sense in it, you know, Johnny,” Tod remarked to me, as we stood at the door, looking out “The moon should hide her face on St. Mark’s Eve.” Just as he spoke, the clock struck nine. Time to be going. There was nobody to let or hinder us. Mrs. Todhetley was in bed groaning with the toothache; old Thomas and Pheebe, neither of whom had cared to take holiday, were at supper in the kitchen. She was a young girl lately had in to help the housemaid. “You go on, Johnny; I'll follow presently. Take your time; they won't go on the watch for this half-hour yet.” “ But, Tod, what is it that you are going to do?” ‘Never you mind. If you hear a great noise, and see a light blaze up, don’t you be scared.” “I scared, Tod! That’s good.” ‘All right, Johnny. Take care not to be seen. It might spoil sport.” The church was about half a mile from our house, whether you crossed the fields to it or took the highway. It stood back from the road, in its big churchyard. A narrow lane, between two dwarf hedges, led up from the road to the gate; it was hardly wide enough for car- riages ; they wound round the open road further on. A cross-path, shut in by two stiles, led right across the lane near to the churchyard gate. Stories went that a poor fellow who had hung himself about twenty years ago was buried: by torchlight under that very crossing, with never a parson to say a prayer over him. We guessed where the women would stand—at one of these crossing stiles, with the gate and the churchyard in full view. As Tod said, it stood to reason that shadows and the watchers for them would not choose the broader road, where all was open, and not so much as a tree grew for shelter. I stole along cautiously, taking the roadway and keeping under shade of the hedge, and got there all nght. Not a creature was about. The old grey church, built of stone, the many-shaped graves in the AA COMIC OOOKS. EO mn _