Having arrived at this satisfactory conclusion, the Doctor would pass on to the next specimen, which, having provoked a similar series of interrogations and negations, would be dismissed with no very different result.

There is sometimes an advantage in not being a notable person; at all events, I thought so, when I saw the Prowleys and their guests of chief consideration, to wit, the clergyman, deacon, and Miss Hurribattle, accommodated on the first row of chairs, with their faces under grand illumination by two camphene-lamps upon the Doctor’s table.  There they sat, together with Mrs. Hunesley from New York, two or three distinguished visitors from the hotel, and the elders of Foxden, looking wistfully at the bones, as if in envy of their fleshless condition that sultry August evening.

It was with real satisfaction that I perceived I was considered worthy of no more worshipful company than that of the standing stragglers at the dark end of the parlor.  And as the evening breeze came freshly through the window at the back of the room, I rejoiced heartily in my lack of title to the consideration of being snugly penned in a more honorable position.  As I found it might be done without attracting attention, I obeyed a strong impulse that seized me to pass through the open window to the piazza.  Thence I presently descended, and strolled about the precise gravel-walks, puzzling myself to conjecture how much of the rich light was owing to the red glow which lingered in the west, and how much to the full moon just breaking through the trees.  My investigations were suddenly interrupted by the advent of a carryall, which drove-with great rapidity to the Doctor’s gate.  It was the very railway-omnibus that a few hours before had brought Miss Hurribattle and myself from the station.

“Hello, Cap’n,” called out the driver, complimenting me with that military title, “can you give a hand to this trunk?  I’ve got to go right slap back after two more fares.”

I was near the gate, and of course cheerfully acceded to this request.  A heavy trunk was lifted out, and placed just behind the lilac-bushes at the edge of the lawn.  The driver jumped into his omnibus and hurried away with all speed, lest his two fares should pay themselves to a rival conveyance.  Behind him, however, he had left the proprietress of the trunk,—­a lady of about five-and-twenty, in whose countenance I detected that strange sort of familiarity that entire strangers sometimes carry about them.

“This is Doctor Dastick’s, is it not?  Do you know whether Mrs. Hunesley expected me?” she asked, with a grace of manner that was quite irresistible.

I informed her that I was a stranger in the place, and was only at the Doctor’s for a single evening; but that I could not think that Mrs. Hunesley expected anybody, as I had just seen that lady firmly fixed in the front row of chairs before the Doctor’s table,—­whence, owing to the crowd of sitters behind, she would have some difficulty in extricating herself.