rote, 'you won't mind very
much--it was so extremely ugly, and--well--we were only too glad it was
none of the other dogs.' But my sister was wrong, for notwithstanding
its unsightly appearance and hopeless lack of breed, I had grown to like
that little black-and-tan more than any of my rare and choice pets."

The following account, which concludes my notes on hauntings by dog
phantasms, was sent me many years ago by a gentleman then living in
Virginia, U.S.A. It runs thus:--

_The Strange Disappearance of Mr. Jeremiah Dance_

"Twenty pounds a year for a twelve-roomed house with large front lawn,
good stabling and big kitchen gardens. That sounds all right," I
commented. "But why so cheap?"

"Well," the advertiser--Mr. Baldwin by name, a short, stout gentleman,
with keen, glittering eyes--replied, "Well, you see, it's a bit of a
distance from the town, and--er--most people prefer being nearer--like
neighbours and all that sort of thing."

"Like neighbours!" I exclaimed. "I don't. I've just seen about enough of
them. Drains all right?"

"Oh, yes! Perfect."

"Water?"

"Excellent."

"Everything in good condition?"

"First rate."

"Loneliness the only thing people object to?"

"That is so."

"Then I'll oblige you to send someone to show me over the house, for I
think it is just the sort of place we want. You see, after being bottled
up in a theatre all the afternoon and evening, one likes to get away
somewhere where it is quiet--somewhere where one can lie in bed in the
morning inhaling pure air and undisturbed by street traffic."

"I understand," Mr. Baldwin responded, "but--er--it is rather late now;
wouldn't you prefer to see over it in the morning? Everything looks at
its worst--its very worst--in the twilight."

"Oh, I'll make allowances for the dusk," I said. "You haven't got any
ghosts stowed away there, have you?" And he went off into a roar of
laughter.

"No, the house is not haunted," Mr. Baldwin replied. "Not that it would
much matter to you if it were, for I can see you don't believe in
spooks."

"Believe in spooks!" I cried. "Not much. I would as soon believe in
patent hair restorers. Let me see over it at once."

"Very well, sir. I'll take you there myself," Mr. Baldwin replied,
somewhat reluctantly. "Here, Tim--fetch the keys of the Crow's Nest and
tell Higgins to bring the trap round."

The boy he addressed flew, and in a few minutes the sound of wheels and
the jingling of harnes