“It was about half-past two,” said Mr. Giles, “or I wouldn’t swear that it mightn’t have been a little nearer three, when I woke up, and, turning round in my bed, as it might be so, (here Mr. Giles turned round in his chair, and pulled the corner of the tablecloth over him to imitate bedclothes,) I fancied I heerd a noise.”

At this point of the narrative the cook turned pale, and asked the housemaid to shut the door: who asked Brittles, who asked the tinker, who pretended not to hear.

“⁠—Heerd a noise,” continued Mr. Giles. “I says, at first, ‘This is illusion’; and was composing myself off to sleep, when I heerd the noise again, distinct.”

“What sort of a noise?” asked the cook.