"So the yokels say hereabouts, Perry, but if half what I hear is true, it is haunted by things far worse--more evil than ghosts." "Meaning what?" I questioned. "Well, it is owned by a person of the name of Trenchard who seems to be a rich mixture of gentlemanly ruffian, Turkish bashaw and the devil. Anyhow, the place has a demned unsavoury reputation and abuts on my land." "Indeed!" said I, stifling a yawn. "And what manner of neighbour is he--to look at?" "Don't know--never clapped eyes on the fellow--nobody ever sees him. Fellow rarely stirs abroad and when he does, always in closed carriage--muffled to the eyes--queer fish and demned unpleasant, by all accounts." "Evidently!" said I, then uttered an exclamation as Wildfire tripped and off spun his near foreshoe. "Curse and confound it!" exclaimed Anthony ruefully. "And no smith nearer than five miles!" "That being so," quoth I, dismounting, "confound and curse it with all my heart." "There's the 'Soaring Lark' not half a mile away--a small inn, kept by a friend of mine." "And a ridiculous name for any inn!" said I. "Wait till you see it, Perry." So saying, Anthony turned aside down an unexpected and rutted by-lane, I leading my horse; and, rounding a sharp bend in this narrow track, we came upon a small inn. It stood well back amid the green and was further shaded by three great trees; and surely the prettiest, brightest, cosiest little inn that the eye of wearied traveller might behold. Its twinkling lattices open to the sunny air showed a vision of homely comfort within; its hospitable door gaped wide upon an inviting chamber floored with red tile, and before it stood a tall, youngish man in shirtsleeves with the brightest eyes, the cheeriest smile and the blackest whiskers I had ever seen. "O Mary, lass!" he cried, "Mr. Anthony!" And then, as he hurried forward to take our horses: "Why, Lord, Mr. Anthony, sir, we du be tur'ble glad to see 'ee--eh, old lady?" This last to her who had hurried to his call--a youngish woman, as bright, as cosy, as cheery, but far prettier than the inn itself. "Oh, but indeed we be j'yful to see 'ee, Mr. Anthony; us was talkin' o' you an' your bonny lady this very day. She do be well, sir, I 'ope, an' comin' home to the great house soon, Mr. Anthony?" "Thank you, yes, Mary," answered Anthony, baring his head and giving her his hand, "we shall be coming home next week. And here, George and Mary, is my friend Mr. Vereker. His horse has cast a shoe, send it to Joe at Hadlow to be shod. Meanwhile we will drink a flagon of your October." So while George led away my horse, his pretty wife brought us into the sanded parlour, where, having despatched a shock-headed boy with my horse, George presently joined us.