"You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. "My servants, like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears,— and hands, if need be,—but no tongues. That wasn’t even the worst thing. He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle.
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