e the like again; but perhaps you may, for now
coaches like yours stop at the old tavern almost every day."

The ballroom of the tavern remains exactly as it was,--a fireplace
at one end filled with ashes of burnt-out revelries, a little
railing at one side where the fiddlers sat, the old benches along
the side,--all remind one of the gayeties of long ago.

In connection with the Morgan mystery the village of Stafford is
interesting, because the old tavern and the three-story stone
building are probably the only buildings still standing which were
identified with the events leading up to the disappearance of
Morgan. The other towns, like Batavia and Canandaigua, have grown
and changed, so that the old buildings have long since made way
for modern. One of the last to go was the old jail at Canandaigua
where Morgan was confined and from which he was taken. When that
old jail was torn down some years ago, people carried away pieces
of his cell as souvenirs of a mystery still fascinating because
still a mystery.

As we came out of the old tavern there were a number of men
gathered about the machine, looking at it. I asked them some
questions about the village, and happened to say,--

"I once knew a man who, seventy-five years ago, lived in that
little stone building by the bridge."

"That was in Morgan's time," said an old man, and every one in the
crowd turned instantly from the automobile to look at me.

"Yes, he lived here as a young man."

"They stopped at this very tavern with Morgan on their way
through," said some one in the crowd.

"And that stone building just the other side of the bridge is
where the Masons met in those days," said another.

"That's where they took Miller," interrupted the old man.

"Who was Miller?" I asked.

"He was the printer in Batavia who was getting out Morgan's book;
they brought him here to Stafford, and took him up into the
lodge-room in that building and tried to frighten him, but he wasn't
to be frightened, so they took him on to Le Roy and let him go."

"Did they ever find out what became of Morgan?" I asked.

There was silence for a moment, and then the old man, looking
first at the others, said,--

"No-o-o, not for sartain, but the people in this locality hed
their opinion, and hev it yet."

"You bet they have," came from some one in the crowd.

Thursday we started for Rochester by way of Stafford and Le Roy
instead of Newkirk, Byron, and Bergen, which is the mo