Legend Land, Volume 2 | Page 8

is dead!"
Old Richard was so much affected by this that he joined in the cry of lamentation. But no sooner was his voice heard than all the lights were extinguished and the piskies fled in consternation in every direction. Richard himself was so much alarmed that he ran for his home, firmly convinced that he was fortunate to have escaped with his life.
Lelant Church and the sand-hills remain to-day much as they were on that long-ago midnight when Richard attended the piskie's funeral, but nowadays the country round about has become one of the most favoured, by visitors, in all Cornwall.
Lelant with its golf course, pretty Carbis Bay with its wonderful bathing beach, and St. Ives, beloved of artists and those in search of rest and health, a few miles further on, are all places that exercise the strongest fascination for those who have once visited them. The district is singularly attractive to the tourist; wild, rugged coast or grim moorland scenery is to be found within easy walking distance, while nestling in between the forbidding cliffs are pleasant sheltered sandy coves where one may bathe in safety or laze away the sunny hours, protected from the harsher winds that sweep the uplands.
Large modern hotels are to be found at St. Ives and Carbis Bay, and the sailing and sea-fishing of the Hayle Estuary are as good as any in all that favoured land of Cornwall.
[Illustration: Lelant Church]
[Illustration]

THE SPECTRE COACH
In the days of Good Queen Anne, the parson of Talland, a quaint little sea-girt village near Looe, was a singular man named Dodge. Parson Dodge's reputation in that neighbourhood was that of being able to lay ghosts and command evil spirits, and although the country folk were rather terrified of their vicar, they had the utmost faith in his marvellous powers.
And it happened that the good folk of Lanreath, a few miles away, were suffering severely from a wild spirit that frequented the high moor in their parish. The ghost was that, they said, of an avaricious landowner who had wasted his fortune in lawsuits, attempting unjustly to seize from the villagers a wide stretch of common-land. Disappointment had killed him, but in the spirit world he could find no rest, for he used to return of nights to the land he had coveted, and drive wildly about in a black coach drawn by six sable, headless horses, much to the terror of the country folk.
So the rector of Lanreath decided at last to appeal to Parson Dodge to come over and exorcise the wandering spirit. Parson Dodge agreed, and upon the appointed night he and the rector rode out on to the haunted moor to see what could be done about the bad business.
It was a grim, barren spot that they reached at last and the rector did not at all like his task. But Parson Dodge bade him cheer up, saying that he never yet met the ghost that he couldn't best. So the two parsons dismounted and tramped up and down for an hour, expecting every moment the arrival of the spectre coach.
When at last midnight had passed and nothing had happened, they decided to abandon their vigil and return some other night. So, taking leave of one another, they separated, the rector to take a short ride to his home, Parson Dodge going a mile across the moor to the road that led him back to Talland vicarage.
Dodge had been riding about five minutes when, without any apparent reason, his mare shied, then stood stock-still. The parson tried to urge her on, but she refused; then he dismounted and tried to lead her, but that failed too. So he concluded that he must be intended to return, and, remounting, he set the mare off back to the haunted moor.
She went cross-country through the murky night like the wind, and in a very few minutes Dodge was again on the spot where he had left his brother priest. There the mare shied once more and showed every sign of fear, and the parson, looking about him, espied a short distance off the gruesome spectre he had originally come to meet.
There was the sooty-black coach, the dark, headless steeds, and, what thoroughly alarmed him, a grim cloaked figure urging his team at a gallop along a path in which lay the prostrate form of his friend the rector of Lanreath.
Parson Dodge set his mare, despite her fears, straight for the approaching coach, uttering his prayers of exorcism the while. With the first words the dusky team swerved and a sepulchral voice came from the driver, saying: "Dodge is come! I must be gone." With that the spirit whipped up his horses and disappeared at a tremendous pace across the moor, and was never seen again.
The parson then dismounted