ay, and all
the Saturday.

It was a very wet Sunday: raining and blowing from morning to night. When
the bells rang for afternoon church, they seemed to ring in the commotion
of the puddles as well as in the wind, and they sounded very loud and
dismal indeed, and the street looked very dismal indeed, and the House
looked dismallest of all.

I was reading my prayers near the light, and my fire was growing in the
darkening window-glass, when, looking up, as I prayed for the fatherless
children and widows and all who were desolate and oppressed,--I saw the
Eye again. It passed in a moment, as it had done before; but, this time,
I was inwardly more convinced that I had seen it.

Well to be sure, I _had_ a night that night! Whenever I closed my own
eyes, it was to see eyes. Next morning, at an unreasonably, and I should
have said (but for that railroad) an impossibly early hour, comes
Trottle. As soon as he had told me all about the Wells, I told him all
about the House. He listened with as great interest and attention as I
could possibly wish, until I came to Jabez Jarber, when he cooled in an
instant, and became opinionated.

"Now, Trottle," I said, pretending not to notice, "when Mr. Jarber comes
back this evening, we must all lay our heads together."

"I should hardly think that would be wanted, ma'am; Mr. Jarber's head is
surely equal to anything."

Being determined not to notice, I said again, that we must all lay our
heads together.

"Whatever you order, ma'am, shall be obeyed. Still, it cannot be
doubted, I should think, that Mr. Jarber's head is equal, if not
superior, to any pressure that can be brought to bear upon it."

This was provoking; and his way, when he came in and out all through the
day, of pretending not to see the House to Let, was more provoking still.
However, being quite resolved not to notice, I gave no sign whatever that
I did notice. But, when evening came, and he showed in Jarber, and, when
Jarber wouldn't be helped off with his cloak, and poked his cane into
cane chair-backs and china ornaments and his own eye, in trying to
unclasp his brazen lions of himself (which he couldn't do, after all), I
could have shaken them both.

As it was, I only shook the tea-pot, and made the tea. Jarber had
brought from under his cloak, a roll of paper, with which he had
triumphantly pointed over the way, like the Ghost of Hamlet's Father
appearing to the late Mr. Kemble, and which he had lai