“Because the doors were locked and the keys put where no one in the town could get at ’em. We thought it best; there was death on the walls everywhere, and the child had no money to be brought up in any such a grand way as that.” “Folks as I mean don’t need keys,” murmured the other under his breath. But the suggestion, if it were such, was immediately laughed down. “You’re a fool, Jacob; we’re in the nineteenth century now, the era of electric lights and trolley cars.” “I know; I know; but I’ve seen more than once on a dark night the shifting of a light behind those drawn curtains, and once——” But the laughter was against him and he desisted, and another man spoke up—the lodger with the sallow face: “Why didn’t they sell the old place if the child was left as poor as you say?” “Why, man, its owner might be living. Ephraim Earle only disappeared, you know, and might have returned any day. Leastwise that is what we thought then. Now, we no longer expect it. I wonder who’ll act as her guardian.” “She’s of age; she don’t need no guardian.” “Well, it’s a precious mystery, the whole thing. I wonder if the police won’t see something in it?” “Bah, police! They had the chance at the thing fourteen years ago. And what did they do with it? Nothing.” “But now there’s a clue. This man Hazlitt knew what became of Ephraim Earle, or why did he leave that very same amount to his daughter?” “Lor’ knows. She’s a taking minx and perhaps——” “Well, perhaps——” “Hazlitt wasn’t his name, don’t you see?” This new theory started fresh talk and much excited reasoning, but as it was of the most ignorant sort, it is scarcely worth our while to record it. Meanwhile the twilight gave way to darkness and Polly Earle failed to reappear. When it was quite dark, the stragglers separated, and then it was seen that the man with the dog had fallen asleep in his chair. Someone strove to wake him. “Come, come, friend,” said he; “you’ll be getting the rheumatiz if you don’t look out. This isn’t the right kind of air to sleep in.” The old wayfarer yawned, opened his strange, uneasy eyes, and hobbling to his feet looked lazily up and down the street. “What time is it?” he asked. “Nine o’clock,” shouted someone. “Give me a drink, then, and I and my dog will take a walk.” And he drew out a worn wallet, from which he drew a dime, which he handed in through the open window to the now busy landlord. “Hot,” he croaked, “I’ve got chilly sitting out here in the dew.” The glass was handed him, and he drank it off with the ease of an accustomed hand. “I’ll be back before you lock up,” said he, and stepped down into the street, followed by the dog. “Seems to me I’ve seen that dog before,” remarked someone. “Why, don’t you know him? That’s old Piper, the dead hermit’s dog. I wonder how this fellow got hold of him.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IV. DR. IZARD.