tankard of ale at the bar. "The place has had a mighty odd name these long years past; and they do say, sir, 'tis haunted. There was a wicked lord lived there in the orld toime, so they say, and he killed his wife by flaying her to death in what was once the chapel, and that now they call the Gray Barn."
"Hey, man, them's but idle tales," said the landlord quickly.
"Ah doan't knaw that, Ah doan't knaw that," chimed in another man, taking up the running now that the first awe of the grand soldier had worn off. "Ah've heeard the tale, too, and how they say he can't rest in's grave, but works with his flail in the Gray Barn o' nights e'en now. And for sure Ah've heeard myself most fearsome noises, and seen a blue light a-burning like to none other I ever see afore, as Ah've crossed the bridge below there yonder o' nights, when Ah've been late home wi' my wagon."
"Ay, and Farmer Price, hisself, he've seen—summat. He's told as much hisself," said another man. "'Tis a place I'd not care to sleep in while there was a hedge to lie under."
"Tales; naught but old wives' tales!" said
