And when his employers were busy in room B, Mr. Jabez slipped out of the office, and, meeting Mrs. Turvey at the door, escorted her home to what he informed her he now looked upon as a haunted house. ‘The sort of house, Susan,’ he said, ‘which I had in my mind’s eye, Horatio, when I wrote a few lines promiscuously, beginning: And over all there hung a sense of fear That e’en the boldest might well have daunted; And apparitions made it very clear The place was haunted,’— which mutilation of Hood, being dramatically recited in High Holborn, caused the passers-by to stare, and Mrs. Turvey to clutch hold of Jabez’s arm tightly, if not lovingly. CHAPTER XI. A VERY NICE OLD GENTLEMAN. Two days had elapsed since a letter was despatched to Mr. A. B., informing him that Mr. George Smith was willing to accept his proffered situation, and no reply had been received. George declared that Bess’s nose was beginning to get quite flat at the tip from being constantly pressed against the window-glass while she watched for the postman. He was a most disagreeable postman. He went next door and opposite, and this side and that; he rattat-tatted at every door but Mr. Duck’s. George got to know the time for the deliveries after the first day, and he would go down and wait at the front-door and watch the postman as he came down the street. When he got close up George felt quite hot; but as time after time he passed by without the faintest indication of having anything for the Ducks’ letter-box, a feeling of terrible disappointment crept over the young man’s heart. He had made so sure he should have an answer, and so had Bess. On the morning of the third day, when they were sitting at breakfast, lo and behold the long-expected rat-tat came, and there was a click in the letter-box, and the postman’s boots were heard descending the steps—not by themselves, of course, the postman was in them. Bess and George jumped up, nearly knocking the table over, and Bess tore downstairs. Yes, there was a letter in the box. Nervously Bess put her hand in and drew it out, and then, half-hopefully, half-fearfully, glanced at the direction. She could have sat down in the hall and cried with disappointment. It was only a deep black-bordered letter for ‘The Occupier.’ Of course, that was for the Ducks. While she was looking at it Miss Duck came out, and Bess handed it to her. ‘Lor’, a black border!’ exclaimed Georgina. ‘I wonder who’s dead.’ Miss Duck opened the letter with a nervous hand, and then flung it down in disgust. It was an undertaker’s circular, offering to bury the occupier and family on strictly moderate terms. Bess went slowly upstairs, and found George pacing the room. He knew by his wife’s face there was nothing for him, so he sighed and sat down to finish his breakfast. ‘Bess,’ he said presently, looking into the bottom of his cup as if he thought there might be a letter there, ‘I shall go and look A, B. up.’