over the thickly-strewn mounds of earth, so white and smooth a cover

that it seemed as if corpses lay there, hidden only by their winding

sheets. Not the faintest rustle broke the profound tranquillity of the

solemn scene. Sound itself appeared to be frozen up, all was so cold

and still.

‘It was the echoes,’ said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle to his lips

again.

'‘It was NOT,’ said a deep voice.

'Gabriel started up, and stood rooted to the spot with astonishment

and terror; for his eyes rested on a form that made his blood run cold.

Seated on an upright tombstone, close to him, was a strange,

unearthly figure, whom Gabriel felt at once, was no being of this

world. His long, fantastic legs which might have reached the ground,

were cocked up, and crossed after a quaint, fantastic fashion; his

sinewy arms were bare; and his hands rested on his knees. On his

short, round body, he wore a close covering, ornamented with small

slashes; a short cloak dangled at his back; the collar was cut into

curious peaks, which served the goblin in lieu of ruff or neckerchief;

and his shoes curled up at his toes into long points. On his head, he

wore a broad-brimmed sugar-loaf hat, garnished with a single feather.

The hat was covered with the white frost; and the goblin looked as if

he had sat on the same tombstone very comfortably, for two or three

hundred years. He was sitting perfectly still; his tongue was put out,

as if in derision; and he was grinning at Gabriel Grub with such a grin

as only a goblin could call up.

‘It was NOT the echoes,’ said the goblin.

Gabriel Grub was paralysed, and could make no reply.

‘What do you do here on Christmas Eve?’ said the goblin sternly. '‘I

came to dig a grave, Sir,’ stammered Gabriel Grub.

'‘What man wanders among graves and churchyards on such a night

as this?’ cried the goblin.

‘Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!’ screamed a wild chorus of voices that

seemed to fill the churchyard. Gabriel looked fearfully round - nothing

was to be seen.

‘What have you got in that bottle?’ said the goblin.

The Pickwick Papers