On their way to the little hostel, whither they were conveying the poor pedlar, the party passed the church, and the sexton, who was digging a grave in the yard, came forward to look at them; but on seeing John Law he seemed to understand what had happened, and resumed his employment.  A wide-spreading yew-tree grew in this part of the churchyard, and near it stood a small cross rudely carved in granite, marking the spot where, in the reign of Henry VI., Ralph Cliderhow, tenth abbot of Whalley, held a meeting of the tenantry, to check encroachments.  Not far from this ancient cross the sexton, a hale old man, with a fresh complexion and silvery hair, was at work, and while the others went on, Master Potts paused to say a word to him.

“You have a funeral here to-day, I suppose, Master Sexton?” he said.

“Yeigh,” replied the man, gruffly.

“One of the villagers?” inquired the attorney.

“Neaw; hoo were na o’ Goldshey,” replied the sexton.

“Where then—­who was it?” persevered Potts.

The sexton seemed disinclined to answer; but at length said, “Meary Baldwyn, the miller’s dowter o’ Rough Lee, os protty a lass os ever yo see, mester.  Hoo wur the apple o’ her feyther’s ee, an he hasna had a dry ee sin hoo deed.  Wall-a-dey! we mun aw go, owd an young—­owd an young—­an protty Meary Baldwyn went young enough.  Poor lass! poor lass!” and he brushed the dew from his eyes with his brawny hand.

“Was her death sudden?” asked Potts.

“Neaw, not so sudden, mester,” replied the sexton.  “Ruchot Baldwyn had fair warnin’.  Six months ago Meary wur ta’en ill, an fro’ t’ furst he knoad how it wad eend.”

“How so, friend?” asked Potts, whose curiosity began to be aroused.

“Becose—­” replied the sexton, and he stopped suddenly short.

“She was bewitched?” suggested Potts.

The sexton nodded his head, and began to ply his mattock vigorously.

“By Mother Demdike?” inquired Potts, taking out his memorandum book.

The sexton again nodded his head, but spake no word, and, meeting some obstruction in the ground, took up his pick to remove it.

“Another case!” muttered Potts, making an entry.  “Mary Baldwyn, daughter of Richard Baldwyn of Rough Lee, aged—­How old was she, sexton?”

“Throtteen,” replied the man; “boh dunna ax me ony more questions, mester.  Th’ berrin takes place i’ an hour, an ey hanna half digg’d th’ grave.”

“Your own name, Master Sexton, and I have done?” said Potts.

“Zachariah Worms,” answered the man.

“Worms—­ha! an excellent name for a sexton,” cried Potts.  “You provide food for your family, eh, Zachariah?”

“Tut—­tut,” rejoined the sexton, testily, “go an’ moind yer own bus’ness, mon, an’ leave me to moind mine.”

“Very well, Zachariah,” replied Potts.  And having obtained all he required, he proceeded to the little hostel, where, finding the rest of the party had dismounted, he consigned Flint to a cowherd, and entered the house.