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Chapter XXIX
The Story Of The Goblins Who Stole A Sexton
In an old abbey town, down in this part of the country, a long, long
while ago - so long, that the story must be a true one, because our
great-grandfathers implicitly believed it - there officiated as sexton and
grave-digger in the churchyard, one Gabriel Grub. It by no means
follows that because a man is a sexton, and constantly surrounded by
the emblems of mortality, therefore he should be a morose and
melancholy man; your undertakers are the merriest fellows in the
world; and I once had the honour of being on intimate terms with a
mute, who in private life, and off duty, was as comical and jocose a
little fellow as ever chirped out a devil-may-care song, without a hitch
in his memory, or drained off a good stiff glass without stopping for
breath. But notwithstanding these precedents to the contrary, Gabriel
Grub was an ill-conditioned, cross-grained, surly fellow - a morose
and lonely man, who consorted with nobody but himself, and an old
wicker bottle which fitted into his large deep waistcoat pocket - and
who eyed each merry face, as it passed him by, with such a deep
scowl of malice and ill-humour, as it was difficult to meet without
feeling something the worse for.
'
A little before twilight, one Christmas Eve, Gabriel shouldered his
spade, lighted his lantern, and betook himself towards the old
churchyard; for he had got a grave to finish by next morning, and,
feeling very low, he thought it might raise his spirits, perhaps, if he
went on with his work at once. As he went his way, up the ancient
street, he saw the cheerful light of the blazing fires gleam through the
old casements, and heard the loud laugh and the cheerful shouts of
those who were assembled around them; he marked the bustling
preparations for next day's cheer, and smelled the numerous savoury
odours consequent thereupon, as they steamed up from the kitchen
windows in clouds. All this was gall and wormwood to the heart of
Gabriel Grub; and when groups of children bounded out of the
houses, tripped across the road, and were met, before they could
knock at the opposite door, by half a dozen curly-headed little rascals
who crowded round them as they flocked upstairs to spend the
evening in their Christmas games, Gabriel smiled grimly, and clutched
the handle of his spade with a firmer grasp, as he thought of measles,
scarlet fever, thrush, whooping-cough, and a good many other sources
of consolation besides.
'In this happy frame of mind, Gabriel strode along, returning a short,
sullen growl to the good-humoured greetings of such of his
neighbours as now and then passed him, until he turned into the
dark lane which led to the churchyard. Now, Gabriel had been looking
forward to reaching the dark lane, because it was, generally speaking,
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