sting, and
fire-lighting in the winter season, would keep at a respectful distance
from this closet, or pass it with a creeping dread; for the boy-in-
buttons had thrown out dark suggestions that it probably contained the
skulls of murderers, or, at the least, snakes and scorpions preserved in
spirits, or even possibly alive, and ready to attack any daring intruder
on their privacy.

Such were Dr John Prosser's home and study.

It was just four o'clock in the afternoon of the 24th of December when
the doctor returned to his house from the city.

"Is your mistress at home?" he asked of the boy.

"No, sir; she told me to tell you that she was gone to a meeting of the
school board."

The doctor's countenance fell. He was evidently disappointed; and no
wonder, for he had been away from his home for the last ten days, and
felt keenly the absence of his wife, and of a loving greeting on his
return.

"Any letters for me, William?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, they're on your table; and, please, sir, I've put the little
carpet-bag into your study."

"Carpet-bag! What carpet-bag?" asked his master.

"Why, sir, the little bag as came with your luggage. We didn't take it
upstairs, because it's nothing as you took with you when you left home,
and Mary says it don't belong to mistress; so I thought it would be
better to put it into your study till you came home, as it might be
something particular. It's in the corner by the fire-place, sir."

"Well, well, never mind," was the reply; "let me know when your mistress
comes in," and the doctor retired to his sanctum.

Drawing up his chair to the table, he was soon deep in his letters; but
turning round to poke the fire, his eye fell on the little bag. "How
can I have come by this, I wonder? And what can it be?" he said to
himself, as he took it up and turned it round and round. It was
fastened by an ordinary padlock, which easily opened on the application
of one of the doctor's keys. "Nothing but waste paper," he said, as he
turned out a portion of the contents, which appeared to consist merely
of pieces of newspaper and brown paper crumpled up. "Pshaw! Some
foolish hoax or practical joke intended for me, or somebody else,
perhaps!" he exclaimed. "Well, it seems scarcely worth making any
trouble about; but if it has come here by mistake, and is of sufficient
value, there will be inquiries or an advertisement about it." So
saying, he replaced the crumpled papers, locke