soon as the boat with the officer and police came in sight the little judge cried out in a stentorian voice, 'Mr. Sheriff, have you got the murderer?' 'No, my lord,' said the genial sheriff, who was a bon vivant and excellent provider; but, thank Heaven,' he bellowed 'I have six brace of partridges.' The murdered Italian was found very much alive, filling all the fishermen's houses with holy images. His nephews are now amongst the most prosperous fish merchants on the south coast.

One of the greatest humorists the colony has produced was the late John H. Boone, who loved to mystify the Bench. An Italian who became dissatisfied with his lucrative position as telegrapher went into trade, gave too much credit, and came to smash. He applied to Boone to be declared insolvent. 'My lord,' said the barrister, may it please this honourable court to hear me on behalf of my client, Mr. Tarducci. He comes from sunny Italy, my lord, the land of art, romance, science, and glorious literature-home, my lord, of the illustrious Michael Angelo and the divine Rafaelle; birthplace of Tasso, Ariosto, the immortal Dante, and the humorous Boccaccio; the prolific mother of art and science, birthplace of Galvani and the martyr, Galilei Galileo.' After some more in this strain the judge began to get restive. In gruff tones he inquired, 'What has all this to do with the case, sir?' Boone replied, quite solemnly, 'Merely a few preliminary observations, my lord. My client from sunny Italy, home of the painter and the sculptor, begs this honourable court to apply to him the very lowest form of pictorial art. My lord, he prays to be whitewashed.'

TRODD'S CORNER.

BY HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL.

PART I

'It will do,' said the elder Miss Guntrip.

'Certainly, if you say so, sister,' replied Miss Susan.

The ladies were standing in the kitchen of a small house known to most of the older inhabitants of Redbridge as Trodd's Corner. It was built on an angle where two roads met, crowning a hill which overlooked Southampton Water and the causeway linking Redbridge to Totton. About it lay a small lawn and garden surrounded by a fine privet hedge. Sitting on the lawn one saw nothing of the cheap, red-brick cottages and villas which covered the rest of the hill. The eye wandered out of the pleasant garden, lingered, maybe, upon the broad shining expanse of Southampton Water, and rested finally on the distant trees and slopes of Hythe and Cadland.

'If we pulled down this partition, we should have a charming sitting-room,' continued Miss Guntrip. I presume this is the oldest part of the house?' She turned to a third person, a pale, thin woman, who was eyeing the spinsters with a curious intensity of glance, by which the full orb of a dark irid was revealed, encircled by a thin line of yellowish white. This was Mrs. Stares, the owner of Trodd's Corner and of a cottage at the foot of the hill wherein she lived.

'Yes,' she replied. pull down the partition.'

'Tis the oldest part. You be welcome to

'Why is it called Trodd's Corner?' demanded Miss Susan.
'Because Tom Trodd hung in chains on the gibbet, which I

do remember well at the cross roads.'

'Oh, indeed!' said Miss Susan with a suspicious fluttering of the eyelids, which did not escape her sister. And who was Tom Trodd? and why was he hanged?'

'He were hanged for the murder of his twin brother,' said Mrs. Stares indifferently.

'Did the Trodds live in this house?' Miss Susan asked nervously.

'No, ma'am. The cottage as 'twas then belonged to my greataunt, Ann Turlet.'

Miss Guntrip sniffed.

'My dear Susan,' she said, 'these idle tales do not concern us. I repeat-the house will do.'

'The rent is ridiculously small,' murmured Miss Susan, blushing delicately as she met her sister's glance of protest.

The rent was ridiculously low, but only Susan, so Miss Guntrip reflected, Susan, the most guileless of women, would mention that fact in the presence of the owner. Miss Susan continued nervously: 'It is remarkable that a house so desirable should have remained vacant so long. Can you give a reason?'

For an instant a derisive smile flickered about Mrs. Stares's thin lips; then she answered quietly, 'Them as lives there,' she indicated the innumerable red-brick, slate-tiled cottages,' with water and gas laid on, wouldn't care, maybe, to live here.'

'Quite so,' replied Miss Guntrip. The point, which had already occurred to me, is well taken. And everything seems in excellent repair. In short, we shall waste time, Susan, in looking for a better or prettier home. You agree with me?'

Miss Susan hastened to agree. She was a round, comfortable, placid creature, a spinster of gracious curves, obviously intended to have been a matron. Children always clutched at her skirts and her heart. Miss Guntrip, on the other hand, was all lines and angles: a square, flat, bony woman, with keen, dark eyes set deep beneath thick, grizzled brows. Till you knew both ladies intimately it seemed impossible to believe they were sisters; but underlying the dissimilarity of form, feature, character, and temperament, obscured by these, but not entirely concealed, was an unmistakable family likeness, a congruity of principle and prejudice fused by the unbroken intercourse of more years than Miss Susan cared to reckon.

The ladies took Trodd's Corner upon a long lease, and spent a considerable sum of money in repainting and papering the rooms. At the end of a month they moved in, bringing their old-fashioned furniture, a discreet serving-woman, a dog, a cat, some pouter pigeons, and half a dozen prize-winning rabbits.

'Fond o' pets, your ladies?' said the carpenter, George Henbest, to Mrs. Purkiss, the serving-woman. He was putting up some rabbit hutches.

'Most old maids is,' observed Mrs. Purkiss, subtly conveying

the impression that she was a matron. 'But the pets, barring the cat, belong to Miss Susan.'

'You're a married lady, mum?' said Henbest, with a furtive curiosity which provoked a sharp:

How did you guess that?'

The carpenter made the obvious reply that a lady of Mrs. Purkiss's attractions could not possibly have remained single; then he added in a different tone: 'My missus'll be rare glad. She asked me to find out, most partic'lar, she did.'

Mrs. Purkiss stared. The man's simple words seemed to conceal something.

"Why? she demanded.

It's just silly gossip, no doubt. I don't believe a word of it. Eh? Well, if I must-and to oblige you, mum-and because you're a married woman

די.

'Good gracious! You're not a-going to tell me something which an unmarried woman didn't ought to hear?'

'Certingly not, mum. But if you was single, I'd 'old my tongue. I wish your ladies was married-that I do.'

'Wishing for husbands don't bring 'em,' said Mrs. Purkiss sharply. Please go on.'

"The long and short of it is that the people as did live here last couldn't keep a maid. 'Tis said they buzzed in and out agen like wapses.'

'I haven't patience to talk o' maids. Seems to me, nowadays, that's the way they all be'ave, or misbe'ave.'

'Not one on 'em stopped more'n three nights. Some skeedaddled after one.'

'You mean to say Trodd's Corner is haunted. I don't hold with such stuff and nonsense. Never did. And I don't want to hear a word more about it. You'll be saying next it's haunted by Tom Trodd.'

'No,' the carpenter declared. 'Not by Tom Trodd, mum. He do seem to have been a good quiet body since he were hanged.'

'Then whose ghost drove out them silly creatures? Tell me that, and let me go on with my work.'

'I never did hear o' no ghost, so to speak, only

'Only what? Let's know the worst and ha' done wi' it.'

The maids, one and all, spoke o' smells, mum, an' strange noises, an' bad dreams. One of 'em was found in a fit; another

went light-'eaded. Sensible married folks don't seem to have been worried. Why, Mrs. Stares lived in them rooms which is now the new sitting-room for years and years. She never budged.'

'I should think not indeed,' said Mrs. Purkiss. 'Smells, noises, dreams! I wouldn't demean myself to speak of 'em.'

She returned to her kitchen with a grim expression upon her round florid face. As a matter of fact, wishing for a husband had not brought one to Jane Purkiss.

That evening, after supper, the Misses Guntrip surveyed their new sitting-room with decorous satisfaction. The freshly-calendered chintzes, the pretty papers, the ivory-white paint afforded a delightful background to the old furniture and books and prints. Dead-and-gone Guntrips, whose miniatures hung upon the walls, seemed to smile-so Miss Susan observed-with a jaunty air of rejuvenescence; a vernal delicacy and bloom reflected also upon Miss Susan's serene face.

'Only one thing is wanting,' she said; and that comes to

morrow.'

'The child,' exclaimed Miss Guntrip. I had forgotten her.' 'Oh, sister! She has been in my thoughts all day long. That is why I put the coffee into the tea-caddy. A house is hardly a home, lacking a child.'

'Um,' said Miss Guntrip. Speak up, Susan! Don't beat about the bush with-me.'

'It has occurred to me,' said Miss Susan, whose slightly prominent blue eyes were suffused with a soft radiance, that little Lucy, being an orphan, and poor dear brother James's granddaughter, has-er-claims on us which an annual visit of three weeks can hardly be said to-er-satisfy.'

'Put that rigmarole into one word-adoption.'
'If you please, sister.'

'But I don't please, Susan, so no more.'

Miss Susan fell into a reverie, sitting with soft white hands idly crossed upon an ample lap. Caroline Guntrip adjusted a mezzotint which hung slightly askew. Still standing she addressed her sister:

'One would hardly believe that once this was a kitchen and a servant's bedroom. We did well to take out those hideous bottlegreen panes.'