custom he had never omitted. So well known was it to the boys and certain other curious individuals in the neighborhood that he never lacked an audience, though woe betide the daring foot that presumed to invade the precincts of the lot he called his, or the venturesome voice which offered to raise itself in gibe or jeer. He had but to cast a glance at Rudge and an avenging rush scattered the crowd in a twinkling. But he seldom had occasion to resort to this extreme measure for preserving the peace and quiet of his solemn watch. As a rule he was allowed to eat his meal undisturbed, and to pass out unmolested even by ridicule, though his teeth might still be busy over some final tidbit. Often the great tears might be seen hanging undried upon his withered cheeks. So much for one oddity which may stand as a sample of many others. One glance at the room into which he ushered me showed why he cherished so marked a dislike for visitors. It was bare to the point of discomfort, and had it not been for a certain quaintness in the shape of the few articles to be seen there, I should have experienced a decided feeling of repulsion, so pronounced was the contrast between this poverty-stricken interior and the polished bearing of its owner. He, I am sure, could have shown no more elevated manners if he had been doing the honors of a palace. The organ, with the marks of home construction upon it, was the only object visible which spoke of luxury or even comfort. But enough of these possibly uninteresting details. I did not dwell on them myself, except in a vague way and while waiting for him to open the conversation. This he did as soon as he saw that I had no intention of speaking first. “And did you find any one in the old house?” he asked. Keeping him well under my eye, I replied with intentional brusqueness: “She has gone there once too often!” The stare he gave me was that of an actor who feels that some expression of surprise is expected from him. “She?” he repeated. “Whom can you possibly mean by she?” The surprise I expressed at this bold attempt at ingenuousness was better simulated than his, I hope. “You don’t know!” I exclaimed. “Can you live directly opposite a place of such remarkable associations and not interest yourself in who goes in and out of its deserted doors?” “I don’t sit in my front window,” he peevishly returned. I let my eye roam toward a chair standing suspiciously near the very window he had designated. “But you saw the light?” I suggested. “I saw that from the door-step when I went out to give Rudge his usual five minutes’ breathing spell on the stoop. But you have not answered my question; whom do you mean by _she?_” “Veronica Jeffrey,” I replied. “She who was Veronica Moore. She has visited this haunted house of hers for the last time.” “Last time!” Either he could not or would not understand me.