s,
drew up at The Mills, Doctor Toole was standing on the steps, giving
Moggy a parting injunction, after his wont; for poor little Mrs. Nutter
had been thrown into a new paroxysm by the dreadful tidings of her
Charlie's death, and was now lying on her bed, and bathing the pillow in
her tears.

'Is this the tenement called the Mills, formerly in the occupation of
the late Charles Nutter--eh?' demanded the gentleman, thrusting his face
from the window, before the coachman had got to the door.

'It is, Sir,' replied Toole, putting Moggy aside, and suspecting, he
could not tell what amiss, and determined to show front, and not averse
from hearing what the visit was about. 'But Mrs. Nutter is very far from
well, Sir; in fact, in her bed-chamber, Sir, and laid upon her bed.'

'Mrs. Nutter's _here_, Sir,' said the man phlegmatically. He had just
got out on the ground before the door, and extended his hand toward Mary
Matchwell, whom he assisted to alight.

'_This_ is Mrs. Nutter, relict of the late Charles Nutter, of The Mills,
Knockmaroon, in the parish of Chapelizod.'

'At your service, Sir,' said Mary Matchwell, dropping a demure courtesy,
and preparing to sail by him.

'Not so fast, Ma'am, if you please,' said Toole, astonished, but still
sternly and promptly enough. 'In with you, Moggy, and bar the kitchen
door.'

And shoving the maid back, he swung the door to, with a slam. He was
barely in time, and Mary Matchwell, baffled and pale, confronted the
doctor, with the devil gleaming from her face.

'Who are you, man, that dare shut my own door in my face?' said the
beldame.

'Toole's my name, Madam,' said the little doctor, with a lofty look and
a bow. 'I have the honour to attend here in a professional capacity.'

'Ho! a village attorney,' cried the fortune-teller, plainly without
having consulted the cards or the planets. 'Well, Sir, you'd better
stand aside, for I am the Widow Nutter, and this is my house; and burn
me, but one way or another, in I'll get.'

'You'd do well to avoid a trespass, Ma'am, and better to abstain from
house breaking; and you may hammer at the knocker till you're tired, but
they'll not let you in,' rejoined Toole. 'And as to you being the Widow
Nutter, Ma'am, that is widow of poor Charles Nutter, lately found
drowned, I'll be glad to know, Ma'am, how you make _that_ out.'

'Stay, Madam, by your leave,' said the cadaverous, large-faced man,
interposing. 'We are here, Sir, to claim p