teville House. Her ghost came back with other ghosts and drove the
folks away. So the big house remained vacant--save for the spooks, who
paid no rent.

Then after a great, long time Victor Hugo came and lived in the house.
The ghosts did not bother him. Faith! they had been keeping the place
just a' purpose for him. He rented the house first, and liked it so well
that he bought it--got it at half-price on account of the ghosts. Here,
every Christmas, Victor Hugo gave a big dinner in the great oak hall to
all the children in Guernsey: hundreds of them--all the way from babies
that could barely creep, to "boys" with whiskers. They were all fed on
turkey, tarts, apples, oranges and figs; and when they went away, each
was given a bag of candy to take home.

Climbing a narrow, crooked street we came to the great, dark, gloomy
edifice situated at the top of a cliff. The house was painted black by
some strange whim of a former occupant.

"We will leave it so," said Victor Hugo; "liberty is dead, and we are in
mourning for her."

But the gloom of Hauteville House is only on the outside. Within all is
warm and homelike. The furnishings are almost as the poet left them, and
the marks of his individuality are on every side.

In the outer hall stands an elegant column of carved oak, its panels
showing scenes from "The Hunchback." In the dining-room there is
fantastic wainscoting with plaques and porcelain tiles inlaid here and
there. Many of these ornaments were presents, sent by unknown admirers in
all parts of the world.

In "Les Miserables" there is a chance line revealing the author's love
for the beautiful as shown in the grain of woods. The result was an
influx of polished panels, slabs, chips, hewings, carvings, and in one
instance a log sent "collect." Samples of redwood, ebony, calamander,
hamamelis, suradanni, tamarind, satinwood, mahogany, walnut, maples of
many kinds and oaks without limit--all are there. A mammoth ax-helve I
noticed on the wall was labeled, "Shagbark-hickory from Missouri."

These specimens of wood were sometimes made up into hatracks, chairs,
canes, or panels for doors, and are seen in odd corners of these rambling
rooms. Charles Hugo once facetiously wrote to a friend: "We have bought
no kindling for three years." At another time he writes:

"Father still is sure he can sketch and positive he can carve. He has
several jackknives, and whittles names, dates and emblems on sticks and
furniture