Crull, and I had no longer a desire
to look at the room from your bell tower. In fact," Bog added, with a
smile, "the tower has not been quite as interesting for two years past
as it used to be. If I had come up here at any time since Mr. Minford's
death, I should probably have told you of the supposed murder, and
pointed out those windows to you. But--"

"But you forgot all about your old uncle. Ha! I understand. Well, I
forgive you, seein' what there was to 'sturb your recollections." Uncle
Ith looked affectionately at Pet, who smiled and blushed through
her tears.

The old man continued: "I 'member once when we met in the street, about
two years ago--"

"I used to come around this way, you must know, Uncle Ith, in order to
meet you, two or three times a week."

"I give you credit for that, Bog. You never disowned your poor old
uncle. But, as I was sayin', I 'member one time when we met, that you
told me somethin' about the murder of somebody of your 'quaintance. But
I didn't take no partickler interest in it, because I didn't know any of
the parties concerned. And, of course, I didn't dream that poor Mr.
Minford was the man I had seen workin' away there for three years. But
the main fault is mine, because I don't take the papers. I see, now,
that every man ought to take the papers--if only as a duty to his feller
man." Uncle Ith coughed, as one who utters a maxim of great moral depth.

It was then agreed, at Bog's suggestion, that Uncle Ith, accompanied by
him, should call at Overtop's office, at early business hours (when
Uncle Ith was off duty), next day, and consult upon the best course to
be adopted to make his testimony public, and set the mystery of Mr.
Minford's death forever at rest.

This having been done, Bog and Pet withdrew, and had hardly reached the
foot of the tower, when the musical thunder of the great bell announced
the constantly reiterated story of a fire in the Seventh--that most
combustible of all the city districts.

CHAPTER III.

LOVE CROWNED.

Late on a fair afternoon of May, wedding guests began to assemble at old
Van Quintem's house. The old gentleman had been out of society many
years; and he improved this happy occasion to bring together his few
surviving relatives, and friends of his former business days.

Heavy antique carriages rolled up to the door, with retired merchants
and their wives. The retired merchants were of a pattern not altogether
extinct in New York, who