"I heard some facts concerning his eccentricities from a gentleman who owns the place next his in the country," continued the doctor, "which, if they had not come to me from the best authority I would not credit; but my friend vouches for the facts. "Near them lives a woman whose husband was killed on the railroad. She has two young children, is pleasing in appearance, but wanting in force. They had always lived in comfort, on the wages her husband earned. When he was killed, she seemed crushed with grief. The neighbors made up a purse for her, and Mr. Regy, who had given generously, was requested to carry it to her. He learned that she owned her small cottage, to which a barn was attached, but had no money. He found she had no idea of earning her own living, but when he proposed that the children be sent to the asylum, and she go out to work in a mill or family, she cried herself into hysterics, calling him a cruel, hard-hearted brute for proposing it, wished he would go away and never come again. "This is all my friend learned from Mr. Regy, who denounced her as ungrateful, unnatural as a mother, a pest to society. Her neighbors supposed, of course, he gave her up; but he never did, for a day. He went and berated her till he quite roused her into action; and finally she said she had been brought up on a farm, and knew how to make butter and cheese. "'What good will that do you?' he asked her, with a sneer. 'Where are your cows, to make butter from?'" "It was some time before she learned what a true friend he was; but two excellent milkers found their way to her barn, and, in time, pans and a churn. Then she complained that she was sure she never could sell her butter and pot-cheese and cried a whole day at the scolding he gave her. To make a long story short, he sold all her butter and cheese for her at the highest price, taking the basket on his own arm, and carrying it to the houses of the regular customers. A lady on Forty-Second Street told my friend that he brought butter there regularly every week for more than a year. She supposed it was from his own farm; and she has a pile of his receipts signed M. Regy. Once she remonstrated in person with him for his high prices, when he flew into such a rage that she never dared approach the subject again." "Very, very strange," remarked Marion. "I have a friend who is extremely odd and uncouth in manner, but is always doing kindnesses for the poor. His name is Lambert. In many respects your description of Mr. Regy would answer for both." "Do you refer to Mr. M. R. Lambert, a rich old bachelor? Why, I always thought him the most sarcastic, sour, crusty, old man in my acquaintance."