that."

"You're right THERE!" said Dowden, heartily. "And now I'll tell you all
there is TO it. You see, Dave grew up with a cousin of his named
Hamilton Swift; they were boys together; went to the same school, and
then to college. I don't believe there was ever a high word spoken
between them. Nobody in this life ever got a quarrel out of Dave
Beasley, and Hamilton Swift was a mighty good sort of a fellow, too. He
went East to live, after they got out of college, yet they always
managed to get together once a year, generally about Christmas-time; you
couldn't pass them on the street without hearing their laughter ringing
out louder than the sleigh-bells, maybe over some old joke between them,
or some fool thing they did, perhaps, when they were boys. But finally
Hamilton Swift's business took him over to the other side of the water
to live; and he married an English girl, an orphan without any kin. That
was about seven years ago. Well, sir, this last summer he and his wife
were taking a trip down in Switzerland, and they were both
drowned--tipped over out of a rowboat in Lake Lucerne--and word came
that Hamilton Swift's will appointed Dave guardian of the one child they
had, a little boy--Hamilton Swift, Junior's his name. He was sent across
the ocean in charge of a doctor, and Dave went on to New York to meet
him. He brought him home here the very day before you passed the house
and saw poor Dave getting up at four in the morning to let that ghost
in. And a mighty funny ghost Simpledoria is!"

"I begin to understand," I said, "and to feel pretty silly, too."

"Not at all," he rejoined, heartily. "That little chap's freaks would
mystify anybody, especially with Dave humoring 'em the ridiculous way he
does. Hamilton Swift, Junior, is the curiousest child I ever saw--and