John has slept for twenty years in the room at Armboth in which the spiritual presence is said to walk, and has never yet seen anything more terrible than his own shadow.

Here, too, at Matthew Branthwaite's side, sits little blink-eyed Reuben Thwaite, who _has_ seen the Armboth bogle.

He saw it one night when he was returning home from the Red Lion.

It took the peculiar form of a lime-and-mould heap, and, though in Reuben's case the visitation was not attended by convulsions or idiocy, the effect of it was unmistakable.

When Reuben awoke next morning he found himself at the bottom of a ditch.
"A wild neet onyways, Mattha," says Reuben, on Robbie Anderson's retirement.