, his whole person in good if not
prosperous condition, but he had the self-satisfied expression I detest,
and looked after us with an aspect of surprise I chose to consider a
trifle impertinent. Perhaps he envied Mr. Trohm. If so, he may have had
good reason for it--it is not for me to judge.

Up to now I had seen only a few scrub bushes at the side of the road,
with here and there a solitary poplar to enliven the dead level on
either side of us; but after we had ridden by the fence which sets the
boundary to the good deacon's land, I noticed such a change in the
appearance of the lane that I could not but exclaim over the natural as
well as cultivated beauties which every passing moment was bringing
before me.

Mr. Trohm could not conceal his pleasure.

"These are my lands," said he. "I have bestowed unremitting attention
upon them for years. It is my hobby, madam. There is not a tree you see
that has not received my careful attention. Yonder orchard was set out
by me, and the fruit it yields--Madam, I hope you will remain long
enough with us to taste a certain rare and luscious peach that I brought
from France a few years ago. It gives promise of reaching its full
perfection this year, and I shall be gratified indeed if you can give it
your approval."

This was politeness indeed, especially as I knew what value men like him
set upon each individual fruit they watch ripen under their care.
Testifying my appreciation of his kindness, I endeavored to introduce
another and less harmless and perhaps less personally interesting topic
of conversation. The chimneys of his house were beginning to show over
the trees, and I had heard nothing from this man on the subject which
should have been the most interesting of all to me at this moment. And
he was the only person in town I was at liberty to really confide in,
and possibly the only man in town who could give me a reliable statement
of the reasons why the family I was visiting was regarded in a doubtful
light not only by the credulous villagers, but by the New York police. I
began by an allusion to the phantom coach.

"I hear," said I, "that this lane has other claims to attention beyond
those afforded by the mysteries connected with it. I hear that it has at
times a ghostly visitant in the shape of a spectral horse and carriage."

"Yes," he replied, with a seeming understanding that was very
flattering; "do not spare the lane one of its honors. It has its nightly
ho