"Hold your noise," said another, "and help me to get the mud out of my
eye; I can't see." "Never mind," added a third, "considering how you jump, I don't think
you want to see." "This comes a hunting vampyres." "Oh, it's all a judgment; who knows but he may be in the air: it is
nothing to laugh at as I shouldn't be surprised if he were: only think
how precious pleasant." "However pleasant it may be to you," remarked one, "it's profitable to a
good many." "How so?" "Why, see the numbers, of things that will be spoiled, coats torn, hats
crushed, heads broken, and shoes burst. Oh, it's an ill-wind that blows
nobody any good." "So it is, but you may benefit anybody you like, so you don't do it at
my expence." In one part of a field where there were some stiles and gates, a big
countryman caught a fat shopkeeper with the arms of the stile a terrible
poke in the stomach; while the breath was knocked out of the poor man's
stomach, and he was gasping with agony, the fellow set to laughing, and
said to his companions, who were of the same class--

"I say, Jim, look at the grocer, he hasn't got any wind to spare, I'd
run him for a wager, see how he gapes like a fish out of water." The poor shopkeeper felt indeed like a fish out of water, and as he
afterwards declared he felt just as if he had had a red hot clock weight
thrust into the midst of his stomach and there left to cool. However, the grocer would be revenged upon his tormentor, who had now
lost sight of him, but the fat man, after a time, recovering his wind,
and the pain in his stomach becoming less intense, he gathered himself
up. "My name ain't Jones," he muttered, "if I don't be one to his one for
that; I'll do something that shall make him remember what it is to
insult a respectable tradesman. I'll never forgive such an insult. It is
dark, and that's why it is he has dared to do this." Filled with dire thoughts and a spirit of revenge, he looked from side
to side to see with what he could effect his object, but could espy
nothing. "It's shameful," he muttered; "what would I give for a little retort. I'd plaster his ugly countenance." As he spoke, he placed his hands on some pales to rest himself, when he
found that they stuck to them, the pales had that day been newly
pitched. A bright idea now struck him. "If I could only get a handful of this stuff," he thought, "I should be
able to serve him out for serving me out. I will, cost what it may; I'm
resolved upon that. I'll not have my wind knocked out, and my inside set
on fire for nothing. No, no; I'll be revenged on him." With this view he felt over the pales, and found that he could scrape
off a little only, but not with his hands; indeed, it only plastered
them; he, therefore, marched about for something to scrape it off with. "Ah; I have a knife, a large pocket knife, that will do, that is the
sort of thing I want." He immediately commenced feeling for it, but had scarcely got his hand
into his pocket when he found there would be a great difficulty in
either pushing it in further or withdrawing it altogether, for the pitch
made it difficult to do either, and his pocket stuck to his hands like a
glove. "D--n it," said the grocer, "who would have thought of that? here's a
pretty go, curse that fellow, he is the cause of all this; I'll be
revenged upon him, if it's a year hence." The enraged grocer drew his hand out, but was unable to effect his
object in withdrawing the knife also; but he saw something shining, he
stooped to pick it up, exclaiming as he did so, in a gratified tone of
voice,

"Ah, here's something that will do better." As he made a grasp at it, he found he had inserted his hand into
something soft. "God bless me! what now?" He pulled his hand hastily away, and found that it stuck slightly, and
then he saw what it was. "Ay, ay, the very thing. Surely it must have been placed here on purpose
by the people." The fact was, he had placed his hand into a pot of pitch that had been
left by the people who had been at work at pitching the pales, but had
been attracted by the fire at Sir Francis Varney's, and to see which
they had left their work, and the pitch was left on a smouldering peat
fire, so that when Mr. Jones, the grocer, accidentally put his hand into
it he found it just warm. When he made this discovery he dabbed his hand again into the pitch-pot,
exclaiming,--

"In for a penny, in for a pound." And he endeavoured to secure as large a handful of the slippery and
sticky stuff as he could, and this done he set off to come up with the
big countryman who had done him so much indignity and made his stomach
uncomfortable. He soon came up with him, for the man had stopped rather behind, and was
larking, as it is called, with some men, to whom he was a companion. He had slipped down a bank, and was partially sitting down on the soft
mud. In his bustle, the little grocer came down with a slide, close to
the big countryman. "Ah--ah! my little grocer," said the countryman, holding out his hand to
catch him, and drawing him towards himself. "You will come and sit down
by the side of your old friend." As he spoke, he endeavoured to pull Mr. Jones down, too; but that
individual only replied by fetching the countryman a swinging smack
across the face with the handful of pitch. "There, take that; and now we are quits; we shall be old friends after
this, eh? Are you satisfied? You'll remember me, I'll warrant." As the grocer spoke, he rubbed his hands over the face of the fallen
man, and then rushed from the spot with all the haste he could make. The countryman sat a moment or two confounded, cursing, and swearing,
and spluttering, vowing vengeance, believing that it was mud only that
had been plastered over his face; but when he put his hands up, and
found out what it was, he roared and bellowed like a town-bull. He cried out to his companions that his eyes were pitched: but they only
laughed at him, thinking he was having some foolish lark with them. It was next day before he got home, for he wandered about all night: and
it took him a week to wash the pitch off by means of grease; and ever
afterwards he recollected the pitching of his face; nor did he ever
forget the grocer. Thus it was the whole party returned a long while after dark across the
fields, with all the various accidents that were likely to befal such an
assemblage of people. The vampyre hunting cost many of them dear, for clothes were injured on
all sides: hats lost, and shoes missing in a manner that put some of the
rioters to much inconvenience. Soon afterwards, the military retired to
their quarters; and the townspeople at length became tranquil and
nothing more was heard or done that night. CHAPTER LVI. THE DEPARTURE OF THE BANNERWORTHS FROM THE HALL.--THE NEW ABODE.--JACK
PRINGLE, PILOT.