Let's go and see the Parson."
He tossed his shovel on to the loose earth above the grave and was
just about to scramble out after it when the churchyard gate shook on
its hinges and across the path and by the church porch went Bligh, as
I've said, like a whirlwind. Arch'laus Spry, that had pulled his
chin up level with the coping, ducked at the sight of him, and even
my grandfather clucked down a little in the grave as he passed.
"The very man!" said Spry, under his breath.
"The wicked flee, whom no man pursueth," said my grandfather, looking
after the man; but Bligh turned his head neither to the right hand
nor to the left.
"Oh--oh--oh!" squealed a voice inside the church.
"Whatever was _that_," cries Arch'laus Spry, giving a jump. They
both stared at the porch.
"Oh--oh--oh!" squealed the voice again.
"It certainly comes from inside," said Arch'laus Spry.
"It's Mrs. Polwhele!" said my grandfather; "and by the noise of it
she's having hysterics."
And with that he scrambled up and ran; and Spry heaved himself over
the wall and followed. And there, in the south aisle, they found
Mrs. Polwhele lying back in a pew and kicking like a stallion in a
loose-box.
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