“That is what you always say. You’re wrongthe future is rushing upon us.”
“You ent far wrong there. Master Gregory, but I won’t have no part of it, I reckon. I’m an old man now. Here she come!”
The last exclamation was directed at a flicker of light in the pilot bulb overhead. They stood there contemplating with satisfaction the wonderful machinery. As steam pressure rose, the great leather belt turned faster and faster, and the flicker in the pilot bulb grew stronger. Although Gregory was used to a home lit by both gas and electricity, he never felt the excitement of it as he did here, out in the wilds, where the nearest incandescent bulb was probably in Norwich, a great part of a day’s journey away.
Now a pale flickering radiance illuminated the room. By contrast, everything outside looked black. Grendon nodded in satisfaction, made some adjustments to the burners, and they went outside.
Free from the bustle of the steam engine, they could hear the noise the cows were making. At milking time, the animals were usually quiet; something had upset them. The farmer ran quickly into the milking shed, with Gregory on his heels; The new light, radiating from a bulb hanging above the stalls, showed the beasts of restless demeanor and rolling eye.
Bert Neckland stood as far away from the door as possible, grasping his stick and letting his mouth hang open.
“What in blazes are you staring at, bor?” Grendon asked.
Neckland slowly shut his mouth.
“We had a scare,” he said. “Something come in here.”
“Did you see what it was?” Gregory asked.
“No, there weren’t nothing to see. It was a ghost, that’s what it was. It came right in here and touched the cows. It touched me too. It was a ghost.”
The farmer snorted. “A tramp more like. You couldn’t see because the light wasn’t on.”
His man shook his head emphatically. “Light weren’t that bad. I tell you, whatever it was, it come right up to me and touched me.” He stopped, and pointed to the edge of the stall.
“Look there! See, I weren’t telling you no lie, master. It was a ghost, and there’s its wet hand-print.”
They crowded round and examined the worn and chewed timber at the corner of the partition between two stalls. An indefinite patch of moisture darkened the wood. Gregory’s thoughts went back to his experience on the pond, and again he felt the prickle of unease along his spine. But the farmer said stoutly, “Nonsense, it’s a bit of cowslime. Now you get on with the milking, Bert, and let’s have no more hossing about, because I want my tea. Where’s Cuff?”
Bert looked defiant.
“If you don’t believe me, maybe you’ll believe the bitch. She saw whatever it was and went for it. It kicked her over, but she ran it out of here.”
“I’ll see if I can see her,” Gregory said.
He ran outside and began calling the bitch. By now it was almost entirely dark. He could see nothing moving in the wide space of the front yard, and so set off in the other direction, down the path towards the pig sties and the fields, calling Cuff as he went. He paused. Low and savage growls sounded ahead, under the elm trees. It was Cuff. He went slowly forward. At this moment, he cursed that electric light meant lack of lanterns, and wished too that he had a weapon.
“Who’s there?” he called.
The farmer came up by his side. “Let’s charge ‘em!”
They ran forward. The trunks of the four great elms were clear against the western sky, with water glinting leadenly behind them. The dog became visible. As Gregory saw Cuff, she sailed into the air, whirled round, and flew at the farmer. He flung up his arms and warded off the body. At the same time, Gregory felt a rush of air as if someone unseen had run past him, and a stale muddy smell filled his nostrils. Staggering, he looked behind him. The wan light from the cowsheds spread across the path between the outhouses and the farmhouse.
Beyond the light, more distantly, was the silent countryside behind the grain store. Nothing untoward could be seen.