The apartment had the dreary aspect of long untenancy. The books, most of the furniture, and even the tapestries had been removed, and the air was dead and musty; there were cobwebs in the corners, and the dust lay thick on the oaken floor. But this was no time for sentimentalities, and I incontinently dismissed the crowded recollections that flooded my mind. "Where is it?" I demanded impatiently. Zack pointed to the third (running from left to right) of the long windows that flanked the great fireplace. If you recall my earlier description of the library, the window in question represented the flight of the Israelitish spies from the land of Canaan, bearing with them the gigantic cluster of grapes. "Dere it am," answered Zack, pointing to the upper part of the painted scene, the depiction of an arbor from which depended bunches of the glorious fruit as yet unplucked. True enough, there was a significant inward bend at this particular place, and it was evident that the leading of the tracery had partially given way. It was imperative to make repairs at once, and, fortunately, there was a stained glass manufactory in Calverton, and skilled workmen could be obtained there on short notice. I telephoned my request, and, an hour later, a couple of men were on hand to do the work. Apparently the weakness was comparatively trifling, and it was only necessary to remove a small portion of the upper half of the window. The men were experienced and intelligent; they knew their job, and after the temporary scaffolding had been erected they took out the injured sections, carefully numbering the separate pieces of glass so as to ensure their correct replacement. Among the smaller bits were a dozen or more bullseyes of purple glass simulating a cluster of grapes. They seemed to be all of the same size, each enclosed in a diminutive leaden ring. "How about it, Jem?" asked the assistant workman. "They be alike as peas in a pod." "No call to number 'em," decided Jem promptly. "It's all the same in the picter, so don't bother about marking the bullseyes." I, listening to the colloquy, commended Jem's dictum as being eminently sensible, particularly in view of the fact that the weather was threatening and time was of value in getting the window in proper shape to resist a blow. The purple bullseyes were tumbled into a basket, and the work went on. It was rapid and clever craftsmanship, for by six o'clock the damage had been repaired and the glass had been replaced; to my way of thinking, as strong as ever. I said as much, but Jem, to my surprise, shook his head. "All that tracery work ought to be gone over," he said, "to make the job a good one. You can see for yourself," he went on, "that a lot of the main leading is none too solid--look here; and there!" and he pointed out several places where indeed the glass seemed very insecure in its setting. "I don't want to run any risk," I said, "How about coming back to-morrow to make a thorough job of it?"