"Here" he said, "was where Uncle Ely and Aunt Luce lived."

Again we saw only the faintest traces of human habitation: a group of knotted apple trees, an old well overgrown with moss but still containing water which sounded cool when we dropped a pebble into its depths. The old cellar hole was still partly visible. That was all that was left. But we could almost see the comfortable dwelling rise before our eyes as our guide paced out its boundaries and indicated with a sweep of his arm the walls and the doors and the windows.

"There was one window there," he said, "and there was another window over there. The old clock stood right here beside this window. The front door was over on that side just out beyond those bushes. The

stairs went up just about

where that clump of grass is. And between the stairs and

the door was a little passageway out of doors through which the cat and dog could go in and out.

"I can remember Uncle Ely sitting by that window growling over the Peterborough Transcript and keeping one eye on the road. It was all open here then. There weren't any trees except a few of those apple trees-Uncle Ely called them the nussery and he could see everyone coming or going on the road. He'd fret and fume about the newspaper, declaring that the next time he went to the Crow's Nest-he called Peterborough that because it was a black Republican town-he was going to stop his subscrip tion. But he never did.

"Well, he'd sit there reading and the old dog Ashes would be asleep at his feet, when a farmer's wagon would come along down the road. Then Uncle Ely would lay down his paper and pick up Ashes by his tail and nape of his neck and hold him up to the window so that he could look down the road." Mr. Nichols suited the action to the words. "The old dog wouldn't move a muscle. Then Uncle Ely would set him down again and just as the dog's feet touched the floor he'd holler, Through the tunnel! Through the tunnel!' and Ashes would

disappear thru the little hole by the door and tear down the hill to the road barking for all he was worth. Uncle Ely would watch him for a minute, chuckling to himself. Then he'd go thundering down the road in hot pursuit of the dog.

laid about him with his whip. Lick him good. I am going to get Continental to kill that dog. Lick him!' And he'd pick up a stone and shy it in the general direction of Ashes as a signal that his part of the game was over. He never hit him but the dog went off meekly up" the hill and left Uncle Ely to pass the time of day with the farmer, to find out what he was getting for hay, how much eggs and butter were in Peterborough, and to inquire about news in the outside world in general."

It was an entertaining picture, that of the old man establishing contacts with his neighbors and the outside world by this simple ruse and with the old dog as

accomplice. And our guide went on to give us a companion piece.

"I remember one night when I was over to Uncle Ely's. He was reading the Transcript and grumbling to himself over its contents. It had been snowing all day and there was about two feet of snow. Ashes, in his place by the fire, suddenly pricked up his ears and began to growl. Uncle Ely put down his paper and went to the window. 'Trouble down to the road,' he shouted, although I was quite within earshot. 'Get on your boots! Trouble down to the road!' We went out into the storm. Down in the snow and slush a man was struggling with a load of soft soap. Probably he had been peddling it in Peterborough. His horses were poor and one of them was down. Uncle Ely looked over the job, sent me for a shovel and got the load to one side of the road and helped the horse up. Then we took the man and his wife back to the house. While Uncle Ely was tênding to the horses, Aunt Luce helped the woman into dry clothes. Then there was supper. I can remember just how Aunt Luce looked as she moved around in that slow, complaining way of hers; I can see her standing by the table, smoothing the cloth and straightening the silver and speaking softly. Then Uncle Ely disappeared down cellar and came up with a jug of Medford rum. Aunt Luce looked at him reproach fully as he mixed up a little with sugar for the guests and for himself. Uncle Ely could feel her eyes upon him. 'Mother, Mother, just a swallow, just a swallow,' he said. And Aunt Luce turned to the strangers and said, 'We don't have Medford,-not every day. Uncle Ely keeps a little on hand for haying, but we don't have Medford-not every day.' When the supper had been cleared away and the man and woman began to talk about moving on, Uncle Ely said, 'No. Nobody leaves my house on a night like this,' and Aunt Luce took the lamp and showed them up to the guest room.

Poor Aunt Luce, Uncle Ely did bother her sometimes. She had to sort of follow round and explain him. He called every one by nicknames and this distressed her. 'Old Shuttlenose is doing his haying this week,' he'd say, and Aunt Luce would supply in an apologetic undertone, 'Mr. Sam Barton.' 'There's Mailbags coming down the road,' Uncle Ely would call out. 'Miss Barnes,' said Aunt Luce. And so it would go. 'Leggin' Strings.' 'Continental,' 'Gunlock.' No one ever knew the reason for Uncle Ely's nicknames, but there was only one person in town for whom he had no nickname. He was a crotchety old fellow and every one called him 'Old John Turner'-everyone except Uncle Ely; he always spoke of him with exaggerated respect as 'Mister Turner.'"

We walked back to the car in silence and in silence drove slowly homeward. Our driver was living over boyhood scenes and as for ourselves, we too were still moving in the neighborhood of spirits he had summoned for us, and pondering upon the changes half a century can bring. It was very warm and still. In the patches of sunlight on the dusty road were yellow butterflies which flew up in clouds before our car. The country bore the aspect of untouched wilderness as though no human being had ever lived or worked in it, and yet there was an intangible difference. The forces of nature make short work of human handiwork, weeds and bushes cover the ruins of man's houses and speedily reclaim what little patches of ground he has conquered and made to serve his uses. But wherever human lives have been lived, wherever men have worked and played together in families and communities, a breath of their spirit is somehow mingled with the air.

"Wherever beauty has been quick in clay Some effluence remains......

But once in the return homewards

was the silence broken. Back just a little from the road, beside the tumbled