“How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. 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. She entered the kitchen. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. “He would never have found you out if you had not personated me. He arrived at 6:29 sharp on the night of the Junior Prom. Whatever may happen to-morrow I shall be none the better for anticipating its miseries to-day.
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