Mrs. Townsend stopped short and blushed, for in those days she did not know Mr. T., and was always looking eagerly to see if the peel had formed a capital S. Her meditations took a new turn. "How handsome Sam Payson was, and how much I use to care about him! I wonder what has become of him! Jerusha says he went away from our village just after I did, and no one has ever heard of him since. What a silly thing that quarrel was! If it had not been for that--" Here came a long pause, during which the widow looked very steadfastly at the empty arm-chair of Levi Townsend, deceased. Her fingers played carelessly with the apple-peel: she drew it safely towards her, and looked around the room. "Upon my word, it is very ridiculous, and I don't know what the neighbors would say if they saw me." Still the plump fingers drew the red peel nearer. "But then they can't see me, that's a comfort; and the cat and old Bose never will know what it means. Of course I don't _believe_ anything about it." The peel hung gracefully from her hand. "But still, I should like to try; it would seem like old times, and--" Over her head it went, and curled up quietly on the floor at a little distance. Old Bose, who always slept with one eye open, saw it fall, and marched deliberately up to smell it. "Bose--Bose--don't touch!" cried his mistress, and bending over it with beating heart, she turned as red as fire. There was as handsome a capital S as any one could wish to see. A great knock came suddenly at the door. Bose growled, and the widow screamed and snatched up the apple-peel. "It's Mr. T.--it's his spirit come back again, because I tried that silly trick," she thought fearfully to herself. Another knock--louder than the first, and a man's voice exclaimed: "Hello--the house!" "Who is it?" asked the widow, somewhat relieved to find that the departed Levi was still safe in his grave on the hillside. "A stranger," said the voice. "What do you want?" "To get a lodging here for the night." The widow deliberated. "Can't you go on? There's a house half a mile farther, if you keep to the right-hand side of the road, and turn to the left after you get by--" "It's raining cats and dogs, and I'm very delicate," said the stranger, coughing. "I'm wet to the skin: don't you think you can accommodate me?--I don't mind sleeping on the floor." "Raining, is it? I didn't know that," and the kind-hearted little woman unbarred the door very quickly. "Come in, whoever you may be; I only asked you to go on because I am a lone woman, with only one servant in the house." The stranger entered, shaking himself like a Newfoundland dog upon the step, and scattering a little shower of drops over his hostess and her nicely swept floor.