eplying to no interrogatories, and appearing utterly unconscious of any
epithets or railings which from a distance were hurled at him. Only one
man ever professed to have seen his face."

"Who was that, uncle?" we all eagerly exclaimed.

"Late one stormy night, when the snow was falling fast," continued my
uncle,--"and one would suppose that any reasonable creature of flesh and
blood would wish to be safely housed,--an hostler named Dobbin, who had
charge of a stable at one end of the street, was trudging home, swinging
a lantern in his hand, to the small house in which he lived, at a little
distance beyond the now pretty notorious 'Ghost's Walk.' As he approached
the spot, there, to be sure, was the object of terror, taking his usual
exercise. 'Now,' as Dobbin told the story, 'thinks I to myself, I'll play
you a trick, mister, and find out who you are, if I can. So, jest slyly
unfastening the door of the lantern, as I met him, I flung the door wide
open and held it up to his face, and I says, says I, "A stormy night,
friend." I thought I should know him, and guess I should if ever I do
see him again, which I don't want to, I tell _you_; and may I hope to
die, if ever I saw that face before. He looked pale, and his eyes, as he
fixed 'em on me, had what I call a sort of a stony glare. He never opened
his mouth, but just looked. It was only a glance, as it were, for I never
was so frightened in my life, and jest dropped lantern and scampered away
home as fast as my legs could carry me.'"

"Lud-a-massy!" screamed Sally Bannocks, on the verge of hysterics,--and
some of the rest of us were not far from that condition. We were mostly
on our feet, and as my mother insisted upon our bidding "Good-night,"
Uncle Richard proposed, after a further trial of his capital cider, to
harness his horse and drive us home in his covered wagon. But it was a
fine night and, though getting rather late, we concluded that it would do
us more good to take the air, in the mile or two of the walk to town. In
the course of our preparations for departure, and in answer to a variety
of questions, our uncle informed us, that the mystery was never cleared
up, nor the trick, if trick it were, ever discovered. As to the tale of
such a person as Dobbin, we might place what reliance upon it we saw fit;
and though the motive seemed certainly difficult to see, it might have
been, after all, a well-contrived piece of deception, to be sure, a very
laborious an