re in great trouble, just about this time. They don't
feel musical to-day. It is reported all over town that Judge Pyncheon,
who owns the house, has been murdered; and the city marshal is going to
look into the matter. So be off with you, at once!"

As the Italian shouldered his hurdy-gurdy, he saw on the doorstep a
card, which had been covered, all the morning, by the newspaper that
the carrier had flung upon it, but was now shuffled into sight. He
picked it up, and perceiving something written in pencil, gave it to
the man to read. In fact, it was an engraved card of Judge Pyncheon's
with certain pencilled memoranda on the back, referring to various
businesses which it had been his purpose to transact during the
preceding day. It formed a prospective epitome of the day's history;
only that affairs had not turned out altogether in accordance with the
programme. The card must have been lost from the Judge's vest-pocket
in his preliminary attempt to gain access by the main entrance of the
house. Though well soaked with rain, it was still partially legible.

"Look here; Dixey!" cried the man. "This has something to do with
Judge Pyncheon. See!--here's his name printed on it; and here, I
suppose, is some of his handwriting."

"Let's go to the city marshal with it!" said Dixey. "It may give him
just the clew he wants. After all," whispered he in his companion's
ear, "it would be no wonder if the Judge has gone into that door and
never come out again! A certain cousin of his may have been at his old
tricks. And Old Maid Pyncheon having got herself in debt by the
cent-shop,--and the Judge's pocket-book being well filled,--and bad
blood amongst them already! Put all these things together and see what
they make!"

"Hush, hush!" whispered the other. "It seems like a sin to be the
first to speak of such a thing. But I think, with you, that we had
better go to the city marshal."

"Yes, yes!" said Dixey. "Well!--I always said there was something
devilish in that woman's scowl!"

The men wheeled about, accordingly, and retraced their steps up the
street. The Italian, also, made the best of his way off, with a
parting glance up at the arched window. As for the children, they took
to their heels, with one accord, and scampered as if some giant or ogre
were in pursuit, until, at a good distance from the house, they stopped
as suddenly and simultaneously as they had set out. Their susceptible
nerves took an ind