attached to the family, an arrangement was
effected, by which leave of absence would be
granted to her for the remaining months of
Mr. Gauntrell's tenancy, and her place
temporarily supplied. Thereupon, Mrs. Mortimer
departed.

Now became manifest the disadvantages of
an evil reputation. The party who had been
relied upon to discharge the offices of cook,
positively declined to remain in the house later
than nine of the clock, evening. This being
attended with inconvenience, she was dismissed
in a day or two, and another substitute was
sought. The inquiry seemed fruitless. Far or
near, no one could be found willing to undertake
the culinary department, with residence, at
Grisewood Cottage.

During this state of things, a curious incident
occurred. Young Richard Gauntrell, who had
somewhat over-fatigued his student brain, one
day resolved upon a walk as far as Abergavenny,
and arrived there, in due course, about noon.
In that town there stands a small quaint quiet
coffee-house, of the temperance persuasion,
known as the "Greeting Hands," and in the
clean fresh parlour of that house there sat, on
the day in question, a little old lady, eating
bread and cheese. She was a bright and brisk
old lady, with clear busy eyes, and a cheek
which, though no longer young, looked as if it
would be pleasant and comfortable to kiss.
That she was also a careful and wide-awake old
lady, was proved by her—rather sharply, for her
—reproving another guest who, on entering,
had nearly tripped over a bundle she had placed
on the floor.

"That's all the property I have in the world,
young man," said the old dame, "and if you'd
broke your nose over it, it wouldn't have done
any good to you or me."

The guest, admitting that there was an
absence of any perceptible advantage to either
in such a catastrophe, begged respectfully to
ask why it was necessary to place her property
quite so close to the threshold.

"Why, to be ready for a start, young man,"
was the reply. "I don't know what moment I
may be come for, you see."

"I think whoever's coming treats you very
bad," said the landlady. "Here you've been,
with your bundle packed, and your bonnet on,
two whole days."

"I'm noways impatient," said the old lady.

"Do you mind my asking where you're
going?" asked the landlady.

"Not I, my dear. 'Tis 'corden as I dreams."

"According as you dreams!" echoed the
landlady.

"To be sure," retorted the old lady, cheerily.
"We comes of a dreaming family, and we always
goes by it. I say, my dear, can I get a horse
and cart, if I want a lift, Ebbw Vale way?"

"Yes, sure. When shall you go?"

"When my young man comes. But he'll be
a walking, and p'r'aps he won't like to carry my
luggage."

"He must be a very devoted young man if
he do," said the landlady, laughing. "What's
he like?"

"He's a handsome young man, also pale,
which I'm afraid he takes too much out of
hisself, in pint of study," said the old lady. "He's
not far off now."

"Am / the young man?" inquired the male
guest, a young farmer of the neighbourhood.

"Hush!" exclaimed the old lady. "I do
believe that's him. Yes; he's a coming in. I
see him turn."

The next moment the door opened, and
Richard Gauntrell entered.

The old dame started up.

"Here I am, young man. I'll go."

"Go!" exclaimed Gauntrell, who, attracted
by the appearance of the clean little hostel, had
turned in for some refreshment. "What does
this good lady mean?"

"You're wanting a cook?"

"Very much," replied the young man,
laughing.

"Here I am, sir," said the old lady, tying
her bonnet-strings.

"But you don't know about the place."

"Nor don't care," was the answer.

"Character?" suggested Gauntrell.

"Here's a hatful," said the old lady,
producing several letters. Two of these the hostess
presently pronounced to be from ladies of
station, resident in the county.

The young man hesitated. Here was a prize
indeed. He felt, however, that the peculiar
circumstances of the case should not be
concealed, and the guest withdrawing, and the
hostess being summoned away, an opportunity
was afforded him of giving the cheerful old lady
to understand that there was, in fact, a ghost in
the case.

"I don't care for no ghostes," was her reply.
"I rather likes 'em. When all alone, they
gives quite a relish to one's tea."

Under such circumstances, there could be no
further scruple on either part. A light carriage
was obtained, and the old lady and her long-
expected "young man" did really depart in
company.

At Grisewood Cottage, it is needless to say,
the pair were received with open arms. Mr.
Gauntrell had executed a long and successful
foray among the perch; but his exploits were
completely lost in the splendid fish captured by
his son. As for the brisk old lady herself—
Mrs. Applebee, as she was called—after a very
brief interview with her mistress, she threw
herself at once into the heart of office, winning
easily the affection and confidence of her fellow
domestics, and demeaning herself altogether as
though she had lived in the family twenty years.
She had an extraordinary flow of animal spirits,
which never seemed to flag, and a pleasant
hearty voice, which, constantly as it was heard,
never tired the ear.

Now, Richard Gauntrell, in touching upon
the ghost, had purposely avoided describing
the precise nature of the disturbing mystery,
curious to see in what manner it would act upon