d, and then he walked moodily into the
own without any fixed resolution of what he should do.

All that he thought of was a general idea that he should like to create
some mischief, if possible--what it was he cared not, so long as it made
a disturbance.

Now, he knew well that the most troublesome and fidgetty man in the town
was Tobias Philpots, a saddler, who was always full of everybody's
business but his own, and ever ready to hear any scandal of his
neighbours.

"I have a good mind," said the boy, "to go to old Philpots, and tell him
all about it, that I have."

The good mind soon strengthened itself into a fixed resolution, and full
of disdain and indignation at the supposed want of faith of the
Hungarian nobleman, he paused opposite the saddler's door.

Could he but for a moment have suspected the real reason why the
appointment had not been kept with him, all his curiosity would have
been doubly aroused, and he would have followed the landlord of the inn
and his associate upon the track of the second vampyre that had visited
the town.

But of this he knew nothing, for that proceeding had been conducted with
amazing quietness; and the fact of the Hungarian nobleman, when he found
that he was followed, taking a contrary course to that in which Varney
was concealed, prevented the boy from knowing anything of his movements.

Hence the thing looked to him like a piece of sheer neglect and
contemptuous indifference, which he felt bound to resent.

He did not pause long at the door of the saddler's, but, after a few
moments, he walked boldly in, and said,--

"Master Philpots, I have got something extraordinary to tell you, and
you may give me what you like for telling you."

"Go on, then," said the saddler, "that's just the price I always likes
to pay for everything."

"Will you keep it secret?" said the boy.

"Of course I will. When did you ever hear of me telling anything to a
single individual?"

"Never to a single individual, but I have heard you tell things to the
whole town."

"Confound your impudence. Get out of my shop directly."

"Oh! very good. I can go and tell old Mitchell, the pork-butcher."

"No, I say--stop; don't tell him. If anybody is to know, let it be me,
and I'll promise you I'll keep it secret."

"Very good," said the boy, returning, "you shall know it; and, mind, you
have promised me to keep it secret, so that if it gets known, you know
it cannot be any fault of mine."

T