wife, and settled down to be one of the
most thriving men in that part of the country.

"Well," said the Doctor, thrusting his fists deep into his breeches
pockets, "I don't believe that story."

"Nor I either, Doctor," I replied. "But it has amused you all for half
an hour; so let it pass."

"Oh!" said the Doctor, rather peevishly, "if you put it on those
grounds, I am bound, of course, to withhold a few little criticisms I
was inclined to make on its probability. I hope you won't go and pass
it off as authentic, you know, because if we once begin to entertain
these sort of legends as meaning anything, the whole history of the
country becomes one great fogbank, through which the devil himself
could not find his way."

"Now, for my part," said mischievous Alice, "I think it a very pretty
story. And I have no doubt that it is every word of it true."

"Oh, dear me, then," said the Doctor, "let us vote it true. And, while
we are about it, let us believe that the Sydney ghost actually did sit
on a three-rail fence, smoking its pipe, and directing an anxious crowd
of relatives where to find its body. By all means let us believe
everything we hear."

The next morning our pleasant party suffered a loss. Captain Brentwood
and Alice went off home. He was wanted there, and all things seemed so
tranquil that he thought it was foolish to stay away any longer. Cecil
Mayford, too, departed, carrying with him the affectionate farewells of
the whole party. His pleasant even temper, and his handsome face, had
won every one who knew him, and, though he never talked much, yet, when
he was gone, we all missed his merry laugh, after one of Desborough's
good stories. Charley Hawker went off with him too, and spent a few
hours with Ellen Mayford, much to his satisfaction, but came in again
at night, as his mother had prayed of him not to leave the Major's till
he had seen her again.

That night the Major proposed punch, and, after Mrs. Buckley had gone
to bed, Sam sang a song, and Desborough told a story, about a
gamekeeper of his uncle's, whom the old gentleman desired to start in
an independent way of business. So he built him a new house, and gave
him a keg of whisky, to start in the spirit-selling line. "But the
first night," said Desborough, "the villain finished the whisky
himself, broke the keg, and burnt the house down; so my uncle had to
take him back into service again, after all." And after this came other
stories equally