a passage which ran by a store-cupboard under the bend of the stairs to
a neat pantry with the usual shelves and linen-press, and under the
window (which faced north) a porcelain basin and brass tap. On the
first morning of my tenancy I had visited this pantry and turned the
tap; but no water ran. I supposed this to be accidental. Mrs. Carkeek
had to wash up glass ware and crockery, and no doubt Mrs. Carkeek would
complain of any failure in the water supply.

"But the day after my surprise visit (as I called it) I had picked a
basketful of roses, and carried them into the pantry as a handy place to
arrange them in. I chose a china bowl and went to fill it at the tap.
Again the water would not run.

"I called Mrs. Carkeek. 'What is wrong with this tap?' I asked.
'The rest of the house is well enough supplied.'

"'I don't know, miss. I never use it.'

"'But there must be a reason; and you must find it a great nuisance
washing up the plate and glasses in the kitchen. Come around to the
back with me, and we'll have a look at the cisterns.'

"'The cisterns'll be all right, miss. I assure you I don't find it a
trouble.'

"But I was not to be put off. The back of the house stood but ten feet
from a wall which was really but a stone face built against the cliff
cut away by the architect. Above the cliff rose the kitchen garden, and
from its lower path we looked over the wall's parapet upon the cisterns.
There were two--a very large one, supplying the kitchen and the bathroom
above the kitchen; and a small one, obviously fed by the other, and as
obviously leading, by a pipe which I could trace, to the pantry.
Now the big cistern stood almost full, and yet the small one, though on
a lower level, was empty.

"'It's as plain as daylight,' said I. 'The pipe between the two is
choked.' And I clambered on to the parapet.

"'I wouldn't, miss. The pantry tap is only cold water, and no use to
me. From the kitchen boiler I gets it hot, you see.'

"'But I want the pantry water for my flowers.' I bent over and groped.
'I thought as much!' said I, as I wrenched out a thick plug of cork and
immediately the water began to flow. I turned triumphantly on Mrs.
Carkeek, who had grown suddenly red in the face. Her eyes were fixed on
the cork in my hand. To keep it more firmly wedged in its place
somebody had wrapped it round with a rag of calico print; and,
discoloured though the rag was, I seemed to recall the pattern