"Why not?"
"Well, don't you see, the old fellow was crazy, and sometimes he used to sing and howl all night long."
"But, Cornelia Mary, he's dead now, and this is a good, big house. It would be a palace for the Mulvaneys. Who owns it?"
"The same man who allowed the poor old lunatic to have it for a home. He's queer, too. I never said anything but 'good morning,' or 'how do you do' to him in my life."
"Where does he live?"
"Oh, just a little way from here around the next corner on the Bay Shore road."
"What's his name?"
"Welcome Hodgkins."
"Oh, he's the Hodgkins district, is he?"
"No," laughed Cornelia, "not exactly, although his ancestors gave the district its name. I tell you he's a queer old fellow—the only Hodgkins left in the country. I really shouldn't like to call on him, but we'll do it if you think the Mulvaneys would live here, and if you'll do the talking."