e we were here, and thou knowest the doors were all
fast. The kitchen door-post is now as rotten as touchwood; no bolt will
fasten it."

"Nail it up,--nail 'em all up," growled Gilbert; "nobody'll live here
now; or else set fire to 't. It'll make a rare bonfire to burn that ugly
old will in."

A boisterous laugh here broke from the remorseless Gilbert. It fell upon
my ear as something with which I had once been disagreeably familiar.
The voice of the first speaker, too, seemed the echo of one that had
been heard in childhood. A friendly chink permitted me to gain the
information I sought; there stood my uncle and his trusty familiar. In
my youth I had contracted a somewhat unaccountable aversion to the
latter personage. I well remembered his downcast grey eye, deprived of
its fellow; and the malignant pleasure he took in thwarting and
disturbing my childish amusements. This prepossessing Cyclop held a
tinder-box, and was preparing to light a match. My uncle's figure I
could not mistake: a score of winters had cast their shadows on his brow
since we had separated; but he still stood as he was wont--tall, erect,
and muscular, though age had slightly drooped his proud forehead; and I
could discern his long-lapped waistcoat somewhat less conspicuous in
front. He was my mother's brother, and the only surviving relation on
whom I had any claim. My fears were set at rest, but curiosity stole
into their place. I felt an irrepressible inclination to watch their
proceedings, though eaves-dropping was a subterfuge that I abhorred. I
should, I am confident--at least I hope so--have immediately discovered
myself, had not a single word which I had overheard prevented me. The
"will" to which they alluded might to me, perhaps, be an object of no
trivial importance.

"I wish with all my heart it were burnt!" said mine uncle.

"The will, or the house?" peevishly retorted Gilbert.

"Both!" cried the other, with an emphasis and expression that made me
tremble.

"If we burn the house, the papers will not rise out of it, depend on 't,
master," continued Gilbert; "and that box in the next closet will not
prove like Goody Blake's salamander."

I began to feel particularly uncomfortable.

"I wish they had all been burnt long ago," said mine honest uncle. After
a pause he went on: "This scapegrace nephew of mine will be here
shortly. For fear of accidents--accidents, I say,--Gilbert--it were
better to have all safe. Who knows what may