“Oh, no; I am not sick—­only a little fatigued.”

“What a brute I was, not to offer you a chair!  Now do sit down, young lady.”

Pet did so, and Uncle Ith resumed: 

“The old gentleman was a machinist, I s’pose, for I used to see his shadow on the wall, goin’ through the motions of filin’, sawin’, and hammerin’, though I could never guess what he was workin’ on.  I have known him sometimes to be at this queer business till daylight.  For three years the strange old gentleman never missed a night at his work.  I fear you are not quite well, young lady.  Take a glass of water.”

Pet sipped from the proffered glass, and declared that she was much better now,

“One night, about two years ago, I took a look into this room with my spyglass.  I generally didn’t do it until three or four o’clock in the mornin’, when all the other lights in the neighborhood was out.  But, on that partickler night, about eleven o’clock, I happened to observe that one of the window curtains which covered the lower sash was left partly undrawn.  This had never occurred before, and so I brought my glass to bear on the room at once.  A tall gentleman, whose face I had often seen movin’ in the room over the top o’ the curtain, was just in the act of takin’ his departure, which he did without shakin’ hands.  The old man then went to his place at the other window, and tackled to his work again.  He had been at it about twenty minutes, when a bar, or rod, which stuck up above the curtain, and was somehow connected with his work, fell forward with a quick motion, as if it was jerked away.  The old man stooped, picked it up, and fixed it in its place again.  His face, as well as I could see through my glass in the night time, at that distance, showed a wonderful amount of surprise and astonishment—­at the fall of this rod or bar, I s’pose.  He then seemed to be filin’ on somethin’, and afterward stooped down, as if to put it into some part of the machine, or whatever it was.  Jest at that minute the Post Office struck, and I put down my glass, and turned my head toward the sound, to catch the district.  It struck seven.  I jumped to the lever, and started the old bell for seven, too.  As I was strikin’ the first round, my eyes happened to rest on the strange window again.  The old man was not standin’ there.  The bar, or rod, had fallen out of its place again, I s’posed, and I expected every minute to see the old man appear at the window, and fix it again.  But he didn’t show himself any more that night—­and (which is the curious part of my story) I’ve never seen him since.  Whether he dropped dead from heart disease, I can’t guess; but certain I am that he is dead, for—­”

Poor Pet here exhibited such signs of faintness, that Bog, who had been leaning against the edge of the window, gazing at the well-known window with a strange fascination, sprang to her side, and instantly bathed her brow with water from Uncle Ith’s old pitcher, near at hand.  This restored her.  “Be calm, dearest,” said Bog.