friend!" It is Monsieur the Viscount's
voice, and at the sound of it, there is a rustle among the violets
that sends the perfume high into the air. Then from the parted leaves
come forth first a dirty wrinkled leg, then a dirty wrinkled head with
gleaming eyes, and Monsieur Crapaud crawls with self-satisfied dignity
on to Monsieur the Viscount's outstretched hand.

So they stay laughing and chatting, and then Monsieur the Viscount
bids his friend good-night, and holds him towards Madame that she may
do the same. But Madame (who did not enjoy Monsieur Crapaud's society
in prison) cannot be induced to do more than scratch his head
delicately with the tip of her white finger. But she respects him
greatly, at a distance, she says. Then they go back along the terrace,
and are met by a man-servant in Monsieur the Viscount's livery. Is it
possible that this is Antoine, with his shock head covered with
powder?

Yes; that grating voice, which no mental change avails to subdue, is
his, and he announces that Monsieur le Cure has arrived. It is the old
Cure of the village (who has survived the troubles of the Revolution),
and many are the evenings he spends at the chateau, and many the times
in which the closing acts of a noble life are recounted to him, the
life of his old friend whom he hopes ere long to see--of Monsieur the
Preceptor. He is kindly welcomed by Monsieur and by Madame, and they
pass on together into the chateau. And when Monsieur the Viscount's
steps have ceased to echo from the terrace, Monsieur Crapaud buries
himself once more among the violets.

* * * * *

Monsieur the Viscount is dead, and Madame sleeps also at his side;
and their possessions have descended to their son.

Not the least valued among them is a case with a glass front and
sides, in which, seated upon a stone is the body of a toad stuffed
with exquisite skill, from whose head gleam eyes of genuine topaz.
Above it in letters of gold is a date, and this inscription:--

"MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND."

ADIEU!

THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS

CHAPTER I.

"Cowards are cruel." OLD PROVERB.

This story begins on a fine autumn afternoon when, at the end of a
field over which the shadows of a few wayside trees were stalking like
long thin giants, a man and a boy sat side by side upon a stile. They
were not a happy-looking pair. The boy looked uncomfortable, because
he wanted to get away and dared n