"
"My dear Mary," the Parson argued, "you've a-got the French on your
brain. If the French landed they wouldn't begin by sticking dabs of
whitewash all over the parish; now, would they?"
"How in the world should I know what a lot of Papists would do or not
do?" she answered. "'Tis no more foolish to my mind than eating
frogs or kissing a man's toe."
Well, say what the Parson would, the notion had fixed itself in the
poor lady's head. Three times that night she woke in the bed with
her curl-papers crackling for very fright; and the fourth time 'twas
at the sound of a real dido below stairs. Some person was down by
the back door knocking and rattling upon it with all his might.
The sun had been up for maybe an hour--the time of year, as I told
you, being near about mid-summer--and the Parson, that never wanted
for pluck, jumped out and into his breeches in a twinkling, while his
wife pulled the counterpane over her head. Down along the passage he
skipped to a little window opening over the back porch.
"Who's there!" he called, and out from the porch stepped my
grandfather, that had risen early and gone to the churchyard to
finish digging the grave before breakfast.
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