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where, or else there's been a murder committed, one of the two. It wouldn't come here, you know for nothing, sir, would it?"

"It must have some object, I should think."

"Them's the very words I said to Legge, yesterday. Says I, 'You may take your oath it don't come here for nothing;' and he agreed with me. Depend upon it, sir, there's something dreadful on the mind of that ghost. I remember, sir, a ghost came here somewhere about five year ago—you may have heard tell of it, perhaps?—well, that played the devil's own tricks: took the horses out of the stable—flew all over the country—frightened people into fits, and kicked up Bob's delight! I expect the parson laid it at last, for we haven't seen nothing on it since."

"Was that about five years ago?" inquired Sylvester, who felt his suspicion confirmed.

"Let me see," replied Judkins, leaning thoughtfully on his spade.

"Five years! To be sure!—it's more than five years. I've had these here breeches above five years, and they was made because the others was found in the pickle-tub shrunk up to nothing, so as I couldn't pull 'em on. It was five year last fall, sir—that was the time. I remember now! they cost me fourteen-and-sixpence, and Pokey, down here, was the man which made 'em. That was a rum start, that was! Up to this blessed day, I could never make out how they got into that precious tub. I thought, at first, that cook put 'em there to spit her spite, but I don't think now that she could have been so vicious. No; it must have been the ghost—leastways I think so: if that didn't put 'em there, I don't know who did. Why, let me see," he added. "Five years! Why, you was down here at the time—to be sure you was! Don't you remember, sir? Don't you remember coming up to me, and asking me whether I wouldn't put your trousers on? Why, that was the very time, sir—don't you recollect?"

"I do remember something of the sort," replied Sylvester. "But," he added, being anxious to check these reminiscences, lest they should tend to inspire Judkins with suspicion—"how do the peaches get on?"

"Capital, sir! They'll be beauties this year, sir! Just look at 'em! Loaded, sir: look here. There can't be finer than them. I expect to beat the parson this year. I never see bigger beauties yet. Don't you remember when you was here, five years ago, sir, the parson would have it that he catched you on the wall, sir, a tucking in his'n?"

"Oh yes," said Sylvester, smiling. "I remember that well."

"That was a rum start, too," resumed Judkins. "How he did believe it was you, to be sure! He was satisfied afterwards, certainly he was; but Jones will have it it was you, to this day; and he'll die in the belief, I expect, for you can't drive it out of him, no how."

Mary, at this moment entered the garden with a note, addressed "To S. Sound, Esquire, Junior." Sylvester smiled as he opened this note, and proceeded to read as follows:—