very happy summer; full of color and life. The brush had worked easily,
the weather had lent a helping hand; all had been peace and quiet.
Ofttimes, when I was happiest, somehow Muffles's solitary figure rose
before me, the tears coursing down his cheeks, and with it that cold
silence--a silence which only a dead body brings to a house and which
ends only with its burial.

The week after I landed--it was in November, a day when the crows flew
in long wavy lines and the heavy white and gray clouds pressed close
upon the blue vista of the hills--I turned and crossed through the wood,
my feet sinking into the soft carpet of its dead leaves. Soon I caught a
glimpse of the chimneys of Shady Side thrust above the evergreens; a
curl of smoke was floating upward, filling the air with a filmy haze. At
this sign of life within, my heart gave a bound.

Muffles was still there!

When I swung back the gate and mounted the porch a feeling of
uncertainty came over me. The knocker was gone, and so was the sign. The
old-fashioned window-casings had been replaced by a modern door newly
painted and standing partly open. Perhaps Muffles had given up the bar
and was living here alone with his children.

I pushed open the door and stepped into the old-fashioned hall. This,
too, had undergone changes. The lantern was missing, and some modern
furniture stood against the walls. The bar where Bowser had dispensed
his beverages and from behind which he had brought his drawings had been
replaced by a long mahogany counter with marble top, the sideboard being
filled with cut glass and the more expensive appointments of a modern
establishment. The tables and chairs were also of mahogany; and a new