ssed by a human figure, seated on a campstool near the back wall of
the house, and holding a concertina, whence, at this moment, in slow,
melancholy strain, 'Home, Sweet Home' began to wheeze forth. The player was
a middle-aged man, dressed like a decent clerk or shopkeeper, his head
shaded with an old straw hat rather too large for him, and on his feet--one
of which swung as he sat with legs crossed--a pair of still more ancient
slippers, also too large. With head aside, and eyes looking upward, he
seemed to listen in a mild ecstasy to the notes of his instrument. He had a
round face of much simplicity and good-nature, semicircular eyebrows,
pursed little mouth with abortive moustache, and short thin beard fringing
the chinless lower jaw. Having observed this unimposing person for a minute
or two, himself unseen, Goldthorpe surveyed the rear of the building,
anxious to discover any sign of its still serving as human habitation; but
nothing spoke of tenancy. The windows on this side were not boarded, and
only a few panes were broken; but the chief point of contrast with the
desolate front was made by a Virginia creeper, which grew luxuriantly up to
the eaves, hiding every sign of decay save those dim, dusty apertures which
seemed to deny all possibility of life within. And yet, on looking
steadily, did he not discern something at one of the windows on the top
story--something like a curtain or a blind? And had not that same window
the appearance of having been more recently cleaned than the others? He
could not be sure; perhaps he only fancied these things. With neck aching
from the strained position in which he had made his survey over the wall,
the young man turned away. In the same moment 'Home, Sweet Home' came to an
end, and, but for the cry of a milkman, the early-morning silence was
undisturbed.

Goldthorpe pursued his walk, thinking of what he had seen, and wondering
what it all meant. On his way back he made a point of again passing the
deserted houses, and again he peered over the wall of the passage. The man
was still there, but no longer seated with the concertina; wearing a round
felt hat instead of the straw, he stood almost knee-deep in vegetation, and
appeared to be examining the various growths about him. Presently he moved
forward, and, with head still bent, approached the lower end of the garden,
where, in a wall higher than that over which Goldthorpe made his espial,
there was a wooden door. This the m