or he had been there often. The people had plenty of recollections of
him, but no real memory, for it seemed as if none of them had really
known him.

"Queer kinder fellow," said a wrinkled old bayman with whom I walked
up the sandy road, "I seen him a good deal round here, but 'twan't like
havin' any 'quaintance with him. He allus kep' himself to himself,
pooty much. Used ter stay round 'Squire Ladoo's place most o' the
time--keepin' comp'ny with the gal I guess. Larmone? Yaas, that's what
THEY called it, but we don't go much on fancy names down here. No, the
painter didn' 'zactly live there, but it 'mounted to the same thing.
Las' summer they was all away, house shet up, painter hangin' round all
the time, 's if he looked fur 'em to come back any minnit. Purfessed to
be paintin', but I don' see's he did much. Lived up to Mort Halsey's;
died there too; year ago this fall. Guess Mis' Halsey can tell ye most
of any one 'bout him."

At the boarding-house (with wide, low verandas, now forsaken by the
summer boarders), which did duty for a village inn, I found Mrs.
Halsey; a notable housewife, with a strong taste for ancestry, and an
uncultivated world of romance still brightening her soft brown eyes. She
knew all the threads in the story that I was following; and the interest
with which she spoke made it evident that she had often woven them
together in the winter evenings on patterns of her own.

Judge Ledoux had come to Quantock from the South during the war, and
built a house there like the one he used to live in. There were three
things he hated: slavery and war and society. But he always loved the
South more than the North, and lived like a foreigner, polite enough,
but very retired. His wife died after a few years, and left him alone
with a little girl. Claire grew up as pretty as a picture, but very shy
and delicate. About two years ago Mr. Falconer had come down from
the city; he stayed at Larmone first, and then he came to the
boarding-house, but he was over at the Ledoux' house almost all the
time. He was a Southerner too, and a relative of the family; a real
gentleman, and very proud though he was poor. It seemed strange that
he should not live with them, but perhaps he felt more free over here.
Every one thought he must be engaged to Claire, but he was not the kind
of a man that you could ask questions about himself. A year ago last
winter he had gone up to the city and taken all his things with him. He
had