appreciate a great one. Once, as they were leaving, Kookoo—accidents will happen— was under the stairs. As they began to descend the tall man was speaking: “—better to bury it,” the startled landlord heard him say, and held his breath, thinking of the trunk; but no more was uttered.

A week later they came again.

A week later they came again.

A week later they came yet again!

The landlord’s eyes began to open. There must be a courtship in progress. It was very plain now why ’Sieur George had wished not to be accompanied by the tall gentleman; but since his visits had become regular and frequent, it was equally plain why he did not get rid of him; because it would not look well to be going and coming too often alone. Maybe it was only this tender passion that the tall man had thought “better to bury.” Lately there often came sounds of gay conversation from the first of the two rooms, which had been turned into a parlour; and as, week after week, the friends came downstairs, the tall man was always in high spirits and anxious to embrace ’Sieur George, who—“sly dog,” thought the landlord—would try to look grave, and only smiled in an embarrassed way. “Ah! Monsieur, you tink to be varry conning; mais you not so conning as Kookoo, no”; and the inquisitive little man would shake his head and smile, and shake his head again, as a man has a perfect right to do under the conviction that he has been for twenty years baffled by a riddle and is learning to read it at last; he had guessed what was in ’Sieur George’s head—he would by-and-by guess what was in his trunk.

A few months passed quickly away, and it became apparent to every eye in or about the ancient mansion that the landlord’s guess was not so bad; in fact, that Mademoiselle was to be married.

On a certain rainy spring afternoon a single hired hack drove up to the main entrance of the old house, and after some little-bustle and the gathering of a crowd of damp children about the big doorway, ’Sieur George, muffled in a newly-repaired overcoat, jumped out and went upstairs. A moment later he reappeared, leading Mademoiselle, wreathed and veiled, down the stairway. Very fair was Mademoiselle still. Her beauty was mature—fully ripe—maybe a little too much so, but only a little; and as she came down with the ravishing odour of bridal flowers floating about her, she seemed the garlanded victim of a pagan sacrifice. The mulattress in holiday gear followed behind.

The landlord owed a duty to the community. He arrested the maid on the last step: “Your mistress, she goin’ pour marier ’Sieur George? It make me glad, glad, glad!”

“Marry ’Sieur George? Non, Monsieur.”

“Non? Not marrie ’Sieur George? Mais comment?”

“She’s going to marry the tall gentleman.”

“Diable! ze long gentyman!”—With his hands upon his forehead, he watched the carriage trundle away. It passed out of sight through the rain; he turned to enter the house, and all at once tottered under the weight of a tremendous thought—they had left the trunk! He hurled himself upstairs as he had done seven years before, but again—“ Ah, bah! !”—the door was locked, and not a picayune of rent due.

Late that night a small square man, in a wet overcoat, fumbled his way into the damp entrance of the house, stumbled up the cracking stairs, unlocked, after many languid efforts, the door of the two rooms, and falling over the hair-trunk, slept until the morning sunbeams climbed over the balcony and in at the window, and shone full on the back of his head. Old Kookoo, passing the door just then, was surprised to find it slightly ajar—pushed it open slightly, and saw, within, ’Sieur George in the act of rising from his knees beside the mysterious trunk! He had come back to be once more the tenant of the two rooms.