“The street was dark as your hat and the wind comin’ up it like gas in a pipe, with a brave deal o’ rain.  But down ’pon the quay day was breakin’—­a sort of blind man’s holiday, but enough to see the boat by; and there she held all right.  You know there’s two posts ’pon the town-quay, and another slap opposite the door o’ the ’Fifteen Balls’?  Well, just as I turned back home-long, I see a man leanin’ against thicky post like as if he was thinkin’, wi’ his back to me and his front to the ‘Fifteen Balls’ (that was shut, o’ course, at that hour).  I must ha’ passed within a yard of en, an’ couldn’ figure it up how I’d a-missed seein’ en.  Hows’ever, ‘Good-mornin’!’ I calls out, in my well-known hearty manner.  But he didn’ speak nor turn.  ‘Mornin’!’ I says again.  ’Can ’ee tell me what time ’tis? for my watch is stopped’—­which was a lie; but you must lie now and then, to be properly sociable.

“Well, he didn’ answer; so I went on to say that the ‘Fifteen Balls’ wudn’ be open for another dree hour; and then I walked slap up to en, and says what the Wicked Man said to the black pig.  ’You’m a queer Christian,’ I says, ’not to speak.  What’s your name at all?  And let’s see your ugly face.’

“With that he turned his face; an’ by the man!  I wished mysel’ further.  ’Twas a great white face, all parboiled, like a woman’s hands on washin’ day.  An’ there was bits o’ sticks an’ chips o’ sea-weed stuck in his whiskers, and a crust o’ salt i’ the chinks of his mouth; an’ his eyes, too, glarin’ abroad from great rims o’ salt.

“Off I sheered, not azackly runnin’, but walkin’ pretty much like a Torpointer; an’ sure ’nough the fellow stood up straight and began to follow close behind me.  I heard the water go squish-squash in his shoon, every step he took.  By this, I was fairly leakin’ wi’ sweat.  After a bit, hows’ever, at the corner o’ Higman’s store, he dropped off; an’ lookin’ back after twenty yards more, I saw him standin’ there in the dismal grey light like a dog that can’t make up his mind whether to follow or no.  For ‘twas near day now, an’ his face plain at that distance.  Fearin’ he’d come on again, I pulled hot foot the few steps between me an’ home.  But when I came to the door, I went cold as a flounder.

“The fellow had got there afore me.  There he was, standin’ ’pon my door-step—­wi’ the same gashly stare on his face, and his lips a lead-colour in the light.

“The sweat boiled out o’ me now.  I quavered like a leaf, and my hat rose ’pon my head.  ‘For the Lord’s sake, stand o’ one side,’ I prayed en; ‘do’ee now, that’s a dear!’ But he wudn’ budge; no, not though I said several holy words out of the Mornin’ Service.

“‘Drabbet it!’ says I, ‘let’s try the back door.  Why didn’ I think ‘pon that afore?’ And around I runs.

“There ‘pon the back door-step was a woman!—­an’ pretty well as gashly as the man.  She was just a ‘natomy of a woman, wi’ the lines of her ribs showin’ under the gown, an’ a hot red spot ’pon either cheek-bone, where the skin was stretched tight as a drum.  She looked not to ha’ fed for a year; an’, if you please, she’d a needle and strip o’ calico in her hands, sewin’ away all the while her eyes were glarin’ down into mine.