ittle reflection he resolved
to dispose of it in some other manner.

"It will haunt me as long as it is above ground. I'll bury it." In
pursuance of this wholesome resolve, he took it home again. Digging a
deep grave in the peat-moss behind this cottage, he thrust in the
object of his apprehensions, trusting that he was now safe from its
power.

But noises horrid and unaccountable disturbed him. Demons had surely
chosen his dwelling for their head-quarters. Nor day nor night could
he rest--fancying that a whole legion of them were haunting him. He
seemed to be the sport and prey of his own terrors; and with a heavy
heart he resolved to quit, though suffering a grievous loss by the
removal.

The story of the haunted casket, with many additions and improvements,
soon got abroad. No one dared to pass the house after nightfall, and
"The Lost Farm" has ever since been tenantless.

Grimes removed to another in a few weeks; but his happiness and his
hopes were for ever dissipated by the mysterious intruder. Hearing no
tidings from his daughter, he determined, several weeks after the
adventure, to sally forth in quest of intelligence.

It was a cold blustery morning when the old man set out on his errand.
He was clad in a coarse blue frieze coat, with the usual complement of
large white-plated buttons. His head was sheltered by an oil
case-covered hat, tied down with a blue and white check handkerchief,
and he held a long stick before him at arm's length, on which his
sorrowful and drooping frame hung more heavily than usual. He had
grown a dozen years older at least in less than as many weeks; and
when he came to Church Town, having taken the bypath through the
hills, he was fain to rest himself a while at the inn-door. Before it
stood several carts on their way towards Preston, whither they were
bound for the disposal of their produce on the morrow. Grimes thought
he might as well make some inquiries there; Katherine having at times
visited that remote town to make purchases. He would have company too
if he went with the carts, and a lift now and then if he were tired;
so, throwing down his bundle, he entered the house intimating his wish
that they should join company.

"To Preston, lad?" said a jolly carter, holding a pewter pot that
seemed as if glued to his hard fist. "Rare doings there, old one.
What! thee wants to look at the fun, I warrant. Why, the rebels ha'
been packed off to Lunnun long sin'; but we han had