“It be the sun,” gasped an old woman in a gray cloak. “Toime to rouse out, Myryan, and make the foire,” said the mediaeval 'Arry. The custodian smiled with superior toleration. “But what do 'ee want o' my old lanthorne,” asked a yellow-jerkined stable boy, pointing to an old-fashioned horned lantern, tempus Edward III., “with this brave loight?” “You know,” said the custodian, with condescending familiarity, “these mortals worship what they call 'curios' and the 'antique,' and 'is lordship gave a matter of fifty pounds for that same lanthern. That's what the modern folk come 'ere to see--like as ye.” “Oi've an old three-legged stool in Whitechapel oi'll let his lordship 'ave cheap--for five quid,” suggested the humorist. “The 'prentice wight knows not that he speaks truly. For 'ere is a braver jest than 'is. Good folks, wilt please ye to examine yon coffer?” pointing to an oaken chest. “'Tis but poor stuff, marry,” said Maudlin. “'Tis a coffer--the same being made in Wardour Street last year--'is lordship gave one hundred pounds for it. Look at these would-be worm-holes,--but they were made with an AUGER. Marry, WE know what worm-holes are!” A ghastly grin spread over the faces of the spectral assembly as they gathered around the chest with silent laughter. “Wilt walk 'ere and see the phonograph in the libry, made by Hedison, an Hamerican, which bottles up the voice and preserves it fresh for a hundred years? 'Tis a rare new fancy.” “Rot,” said 'Arry. Then turning to the giggling Maudlin, he whispered: “Saw it las' toime. 'Is lordship got a piece o' moy moind that oi reeled off into it about this 'ere swindle. Fawney that old bloke there charging a tanner apiece to us for chaffin' a bit of a barrel.” “Have you no last new braveries to show us of the gallants and their mistresses, as you were wont?” said Maudlin to the Cicerone. “'Twas a rare show last time--the modish silk gowns and farthingales in the closets.” “But there be no company this Christmas,” said the custodian, “and 'is lordship does not entertain, unless it be the new fool 'is lordship sent down 'ere to-day, who has been mopin' and moonin' in the corridors, as is ever the way of these wittol creatures when they are not heeded. He was 'ere in a rare motley of his own choosing, with which he thinks to raise a laugh, a moment ago. Ye see him not--not 'avin' the gift that belongs by right to my dread office. 'Tis a weird privilege I have--and may not be imparted to others--save”-- “Save what, good man steward? Prithee, speak?” said Marian earnestly. “'Tis ever a shillin' extra.” There was no response. A few of the more bashful ghosts thrust their hands in their pockets and looked awkwardly another way. The Barbarian felt a momentary relief followed by a slight pang of mortified vanity. He was a little afraid of them. The price was an extortion, certainly, but surely he was worth the extra shilling!