ed
himself, however, he drew something nearer, with a suggestion of
stealthiness.

"Ye're mighty like a man I once knowed," he said. "Yer powerful like him.
I never seed two men more liker each other."

"Where did he live when you knew him?" Latimer enquired, the wretched,
dank little figure suddenly assuming the haunting air of something his
eye must have rested on before.

"I seen him in North Ca'llina. He did not live thar--in the way other
folks did. He was jest stayin'. I won't keep ye standin' in the rain,"
insinuatingly. "I'll jest walk along by ye."

Latimer walked on. This dragged him back again, as other things had done
once or twice. He did not speak, but strode on almost too rapidly for
Stamps's short legs. The short legs began to trot, and their owner to
continue his explanations rather breathlessly.

"He warn't livin' thar same as other folks," he said. "Thar was suthin'
curi's about him. Nobody knowed nothin' about him, an' nobody knew
nothin' about his wife. Now I come to think of it, nobody ever knowed his
name--but me."

"Did he tell it to you?" said Latimer, rigidly.

"No," with something verging on a chuckle, discreetly strangled at its
birth. "Neither him nor his wife was tellin' things just then. They was
layin' mighty low. She died when her child was borned, an' he lit out
right away an' ain't never been heern tell of since."

Latimer said nothing. The rain began to fall more heavily, and Mr. Stamps
trotted on.

"'Lowin' for store clothes an' agein'," he continued, "I never seen two
fellers favour each other as you two do. An' his name bein' the same as
yourn, makes it curi'ser still."

"You are getting very wet," was Latimer's sole comment.

"I got wet to the skin long afore you come out that house where ye was,"
said Mr. Stamps; "but I 'low to find out whar ye live."

"I live about a quarter of a mile from here," said Latimer. "The brick
house with the bay windows, opposite the square. Number 89."

"I'd rather see ye in," replied Stamps, cautiously.

"I might go into a house I do not live in," returned Latimer.

"Ye won't. It's too late. Ain't ye gwine to say nothin', Mr. Latimer?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Sheby's good-lookin' gal," Stamps said. "Tom's done well by her. Ef they
get their claim through they'll be powerful rich. Young D'Willerby he's
mightily in love with her--an' he wouldn't want no talk."

"There is the house I live in at present," said Latimer, poi