and when I lay trembling in bed, and Jane Painter stood in my bedroom in the dark telling me stories of blood and murder, the monkey-man prowled about the floor, and dropped from the ceiling, and crept from under my bed, and sat on my pillow with its ugly face illumined. When Jessie knocked at the shop-door, as she had done years ago for the first time, and my mother opened it, the monkey-man entered first, and jumped on to the table; and on the night of the amateur performance at Josey West's the monkey-man was among the audience, seated in a place of honour. Suddenly all this chaos of persons and circumstances came to an end, and there were only my grandmother, and I, and the monkey-figure sitting together. I was in my little low chair, my grandmother, very stately and grand, was in her armchair, and the monkey-man was on the mantelshelf. Said my grandmother in my dream, in a very distinct tone, 'He had a knob on the top of his head, and was always eating his nails.' I looked at the monkey-man for confirmation of her words, and it said, in a stony voice, 'He had a knob on the top of his head, and was always eating his nails.' After this confirmation, my grandmother continued, 'And the last time I set eyes on him was on my wedding-day.' Again I looked at the monkey-man, and again it confirmed my grandmother's statement, but with a slight difference this time, 'And the last time we set eyes on him was on our wedding-day.' Which inference on the part of the monkey-man of being my grandfather somewhat disturbed me. Now, at this point of my fancies, what on earth brought old Mac, the actor, into the scene? There he was, however, face to face with the monkey-man, who questioned him as a lawyer would have done. 'What do you say his name commences with?' asked the monkey-man? 'It commences with a G,' replied old Mac. 'And what is that habit of his that you say is a sign of ill-temper?' asked the monkey-man. 'Biting his nails,' replied old Mac; 'he is always at it.' By this time my dream has resolved itself into a court of inquiry; the monkey-man is dressed in a wig and gown, which do not hide his ugliness; my grandmother, very broad and portly, sits as judge, and I, it seems, am in some way the criminal whose case is being tried, for my grandmother nods her head at me continually, and says, 'Perhaps you will believe me now; all these things happened on my wedding-day.' Old Mac fades away, and is replaced by Turk West. 'Curse all professional moneylenders, I say,' he cries; 'and if ever I believe again in a man with a handle on the top of his head, my name's not Turk West' 'Hold your tongue,' calls out the monkey-man; 'who wants to know what your name is? We'll come to names presently. 'When did you first discover the handle?' It isn't a handle,' says Turk, in correction, 'it's a knob.' My grandmother nods in confirmation. 'He had a knob on the top of his head,' she says, 'and he was always biting his nails.' 'I don't know about that,' says Turk,