In a country neighborhood, no one ever forgets anything, and so when the report transpired that Locust Cottage was haunted, every old crone in the vicinity would remember some occurrence which made it very reasonable that it should be haunted. Captain Fox owned the cottage, and the captain was an extremely conscientious man. In fact, his conscience was a great trouble to him, for he was exceedingly fond of getting the best end of a bargain always, and it seems very unfortunate for such a man to have a conscience. Covetousness and conscientiousness never work well together. They go a great deal better in single harness. The captain informed Mrs. Leroy that the cottage had the reputation of being inhabited by spirits, and this satisfied his conscientiousness. Then he told her that the people who said so were all irresponsible parties, and that satisfied his covetousness. Mrs. Leroy said it was quite immaterial to her about the spirits. She was not timid about dead people, and forthwith engaged the place. Locust Cottage was very beautifully located, though it was fully half a mile from any other dwelling. There were locust trees in front, and at the rear of the house quite an extensive pond, where water lilies grew in abundance. I remember of hearing the ladies of our family speaking about the new arrival, and I concluded that as they did not say anything against her she was some ugly old crone, who wanted to get away by herself and hire a house cheap. It is only young and pretty women who are slandered by their own sex. I was busy in the village for seven hours of the day, but I went home to tea, and occasionally some lady caller of my mother’s would remark on the pertinacity with which Mrs. Leroy kept herself secluded; but further than that I knew and heard nothing. Neither did I care, for I had never been a lady’s man, and at thirty-eight I was not likely to get up much of an interest for one I had never seen. I was cashier of the Southbridge Bank, and, as ours was a manufacturing town, our institution did a very flourishing business, and kept one stirring most of the time. It was a hot day in August, and i sat down for a moment, with a new number of a favorite magazine in my hand. It was so hot, and so near noon, that no one would be in until after dinner, I thought, and i should get a chance to read that article on South America of which there was so much said. Scarcely, however, had I cut the first leaf before the door opened and a lady entered. As it was a lady, of course I could not do otherwise than bow, and be very polite to her. She wanted a check cashed. I looked it over. It was New Orleans paper, and made payable to Eudora Leroy, or order. Ah, thought I, looking at my fair visitor, so the old lady has a pretty daughter; and then I wondered that no one had ever spoken of her.