"But sit down, man. Hey, Mrs Croftly, bring a flagon of ale and the pipes and tobacco. Master Peasegood will sit down here in the garden with me this evening." "That I will," was the hearty response. A table was placed on one side, and the two friends sat down, drank heartily to one another, and then filled, lit their pipes, and smoked in silence for awhile. "There's a nice view from here, Master Cobbe," said the parson at last. "Ay, there is," said the founder; and a longing painful look came upon his deeply-lined face, as he thrust back his rough, white hair and sighed. "A very pretty view. You like this spot?" "Yes," said the founder, slowly, as he pointed with the stem of his little pipe to an opening in the forest beyond the ruins of the Pool-house. "Do you see yon patch of rock where the martins have made their nests?" "Surely, surely," said Master Peasegood. "There is a good-sized hole there, friend Peasegood." "Yes, I see," said Master Peasegood, nodding, "though my eyes are not what they were." "That place was made by the shell fired from my big howitzer when my poor girl applied the match." "Poor child!" said Master Peasegood, sadly, and for some time the two men sat and smoked in silence. "Shall you ever build up the house again, Master Cobbe?" said the parson at last. The founder turned upon him almost fiercely, and seemed about to utter some angry word; but he calmed down, took the parson's fat hand in his, shook it, and released it. "Nay," he said, "let it rest; let it rest." "I did not want to hurt your feelings, Master Cobbe," said the parson; "but I thought it would be better for it and for thee. You must be growing richer than before." "Yes; and what good is it?" said the founder, bitterly. "Of what use is money to me? I only work and toil to keep my mind at rest. Nay, nay, I cannot build the old place up; let it be. Besides," he added dryly, "Mother Goodhugh says it is cursed." "Hang Mother Goodhugh--or burn her," cried the parson impetuously. "A wicked, cursing, old hag. She had better mend her ways, or Sir Thomas will be laying her by the heels. He swore he would months ago, but I persuaded him not. She had been following and abusing Mistress Anne." "Ay, poor soul--poor soul, she is mad from her grief, and it makes her curse. Ah! parson, many's the time I could have gone about cursing too. Poor soul--poor soul! let her rest." "I see you have been very busy with the garden again." "Ay; it is getting to be what it was. The trees have shot forth once more, and the flowers bloom. She loved that garden, parson--dearly." "Ay; and the old house too, Master Cobbe. Build it up, man; build it up." "Nay, not a stone. It is cursed--cursed." "Bah! Stuff, man. Away with such folly. It is no more cursed than it is haunted, as the people say." The founder started, and gazed strangely at his friend. "Do they say it is haunted?"