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came into the hands of the elder Mr. Tracy, who, with his English ideas,
thought to make it a lodge and bring the gates of his park down to it.
But this he did not do, and the house was left to the mercy of the
winds, and the storms, and the boys, until Arthur became master there,
and with his artistic taste thought to beautify it a little and turn it
to some use.

'I would tear it down,' he said to his neighbor, Mr. St. Claire, who
stood with him one day looking at it, 'I would tear it down, and have
once or twice given orders to that effect, but as often countermanded
them. I do not know that I am exactly superstitious, but I am subject to
fancies, or presentiments, or whatever you choose to call those moods
which take possession of you and which you cannot shake off, and,
singularly enough, one of these fancies is connected with this old hut,
and as often as I decide to remove it something tells me not to; and
once I actually dreamed that a dead woman's hand clutched me by the arm
and bade me leave it alone. A case of "Woodman spare that tree," you
see.'

And Arthur laughed lightly at his own morbid fancies, but he left the
house and planted around it quantities of woodbine, which soon crept up
its sides to the chimney-top and made it look like the ivy-covered
cottages so common in Ireland. It was the nicest kind of rendezvous for
lovers, who frequently availed themselves of its seclusion to whisper
their secrets to each other, and it was sometimes used as a dining-room
by the people of Shannondale, where in summer they held picnics in the
pretty pine grove not far away. But during Arthur's absence it had been
suffered to go to decay, for Frank cared little for lovers or picnics,
and less for the tramps who often slept there at night, and for whom it
came at last to be called the Tramp House. So the winds, and the storms,
and the boys did their work upon it unmolested, and when Arthur
returned, the door hung upon one hinge, and there was scarcely a whole
light of glass in the six windows.

'Better tear the old rookery down. It is of no earthly use except to
harbor rats and tramps. I've known two or three to spend the night in it
at a time, and once a lot of gipsies quartered themselves here for a
week and nearly scared Dolly to death,' Frank said to his brother as
they were walking past it a few days after his return, and Arthur was
commenting upon its dilapidated appearance.

'Oh, the tramps sleep here, do t