Another thing: When he had done this, when he had uttered in his odd, musing way, at the threshold of a house, the name of Fisher, Hutton, Brown, Unwin, or what not, he invariably managed in some way, either slyly or by bold question, to ascertain if this name really belonged to the family then residing there. If it did, he nodded his head complacently. If it did not, he frowned as if disappointed in his memory or whatever it was that had played him false. At one place he showed conclusively that he had been in the house before, though no one seemed keen enough to detect the fact. He was passing down a hall, when he turned to the right and came plumb up against a wall. This was where there had formerly been a door of egress, but a change which had been made some ten years back in the inner arrangement of the house had placed it farther on, and his face showed surprise when he noted it, though the expression was speedily suppressed. Again at the Fishers’ he was very careful to sit in the deep shadow, and though he eagerly drank in all that was said, he himself made no remark after his first appeal for work. The Fishers were old neighbors of the Earles, and it was with them that Polly was living. In the afternoon he found himself at the eastern end of the town near the church. As he noticed the venerable building he seemed to call to mind his experiences of the night before, for he glanced eagerly toward the cemetery, and finally turned his steps in that direction, saying quietly to himself, “Let’s see how it looks by daylight.” The street, which takes a sharp turn at this point, was headed by the stately house whose dim columns and embowering trees had so struck the wanderer’s attention the night before. Seen by daylight it was less mysterious in appearance but fully as imposing, though there were signs of neglect on its painted front and solitary balconies, which spoke of long disuse as a dwelling. It had the name of Izard engraved on the tarnished door-plate. “Let me see,” mused the tramp, leaning upon one of the old-fashioned gate-posts guarding the entrance, “I should remember how the house looks inside; I was here to a ball once when we were all young folks together. It was a fine old dwelling then, and Mrs. Izard, who always said she could remember Martha Washington, looked like a queen in it.” Lifting his head, he glanced up at the pillared front. “There was a large double drawing-room on this side,” he murmured, “with a big-figured carpet on the floor and panelled paper on the walls. I think I could remember the very tints if I tried, for I sat that night for full ten minutes staring at it, while Lillie Unwin chattered nonsense in my ear, and—” the rest was lost in his long, dishevelled beard, which was much too gray to be worn by any contemporary of Dr. Izard.