” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. My Mom inherited our house from our Grandma, otherwise they never could have afforded it, not even twenty years ago. He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. “Nothing so base. "Lord, if I can only remember to write it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam.
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