"I sha'n't have much to burden my memory with, then," retorted Miss
Blake, and departed.

Her next letter to my principal was dated from Rouen; but before that
reached Buckingham Street, our troubles had begun.

For some reason best known to himself, Mr. Treseby, the good-natured
country squire possessed of a wife with an excellent digestion, at the
end of two months handed us half a year's rent, and requested we should
try to let the house for the remainder of his term, he, in case of our
failure, continuing amenable for the rent. In the course of the three
years we secured eight tenants, and as from each a profit in the way of
forfeit accrued, we had not to trouble Mr. Treseby for any more money,
and were also enabled to remit some small bonuses--which came to her,
Miss Blake assured us, as godsends--to the Continent.

After that the place stood vacant for a time. Various care-takers were
eager to obtain the charge of it, but I only remember one who was not
eager to leave.

That was a night-watchman, who never went home except in the daytime,
and then to sleep, and he failed to understand why his wife, who was a
pretty, delicate little creature, and the mother of four small
children, should quarrel with her bread and butter, and want to leave
so fine a place.

He argued the matter with her in so practical a fashion, that the
nearest magistrate had to be elected umpire between them.

The whole story of the place was repeated in court, and the