Farrer,
and his own progress seemed to partake of a ghostly nature. Every ghost
story he had ever heard or read crowded into his memory. For the first
time in his experience even the idea of the company of Mr. Farrer seemed
better than no company at all.
The night was so dark that he nearly missed the turning that led to the
cottage. For the first few yards he had almost to feel his way; then,
with a greater yearning than ever for the society of Mr. Farrer, he
straightened his back and marched swiftly and noiselessly towards the
cottage.
It was a small, tumble-down place, set well back in an overgrown garden.
The sergeant-major came to a halt just before reaching the gate, and,
hidden by the hedge, unfastened his parcel and shook out his wife's best
nightgown.
He got it over his head with some difficulty, and, with his arms in the
sleeves, tried in vain to get his big hands through the small, lace-
trimmed wristbands. Despite his utmost efforts he could only get two or
three fingers through, and after a vain search for his cap, which had
fallen off in the struggle, he made his way to the gate and stood there
waiting.
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