'It wur a quare seet, Robin, no daat; bud I've sin monny sich i' mi
toime, an' theyne come to nowt i' th' end. Warnin' or not, haaever,'
he added, with strong common sense, 'ther'll be no harm done bi thee
livin' as if it wur one.'
The mournful music of the strange singers and the solemn sound of the
passing bell could still be heard, and the two awe-struck men stood
gazing after the cavalcade.
'It mon be a warnin', again said Robin, 'an' I wish I'd axed um haa
soon I've to dee. Mebbee they'n a towd me.'
'I don't think they wod,' said Adam. 'I've olus heeard as they'r rare
and vext if they'r spokken to. Theyn happen a done tha some lumberment
if tha 'ad axed owt.'
'They could but a kilt mi,' replied Robin, adding, with that grim
humour which so often accompanies despair, 'an' they're buryin' mi
neaw, ar'nod they?' Then in a calm and firm voice he said--'I'm baan
to ax 'em, come wod will. If tha 'rt freetent tha con goo on whoam.'
'Nay, nay,' said Adam warmly, 'I'm nooan scaret. If tha'rt for
catechoizing um, I'll see th' end on it.'
Without further parley the men followed after and soon overtook the
procession, which was just about to enter the old churchyard, the
gates of which, like those of the lodge, swung open apparently of
their own accord, and no sooner did Robin come up with the bearers
than, in a trembling voice, he cried--
'Winnot yo' tell mi haaw lung I've to live?'
There was not any answer to this appeal, the little figure in front
continuing to chant its refrain with even deepened mournfulness.
Imagining that he was the leader of the band, Robin stretched out his
hand and touched him. No sooner had he done this than, with startling
suddenness, the whole cavalcade vanished, the gates banged to with a
loud clang, deep darkness fell upon everything, the wind howled and
moaned round the church and the tombstones in the graveyard, the
branches creaked and groaned overhead, drops of rain pattered upon the
leaves, mutterings of thunder were heard, and a lurid flash of
lightning quivered down the gloomy avenue.
'I towd tha haa it ud be,' said Adam, and Robin simply answered--
'I'm no worse off than befooar. Let's mak' toart whoam; bud say nowt
to aar fowk--it ud nobbut freeten th' wimmin.'
Before the two men reached the lodge gates a terrible storm burst over
them, and through it they made their way to the distant village.
A great change came over Robin, and from being the foremost in every
countryside marlock he became serious and reserved, invariably at the
close of the day's work rambling away, as though anxious to shun
mankind, or else spending the evening at Adam's talking over 'th'
warnin'.' Strange to say, about a month afterwards he fell from a
stack, and after lingering some time, during which he often
deliriously rambled about the events of the dreadful night, he dozed
away, Old Jemmy, the sexton, had another grave to open, and the
grey-headed Adam was one of the bearers who carried Robin's corpse
along the avenue in which they had so short a time before seen the
fairy funeral.{10}