"Now, this is a true story," began Melissa wearily. The children had drawn close about her. "It's an honest true one about a ghost that used to ha'nt my great-grandfather. My great-grandfather owned a beautiful castle in France not far from Nice." She pronounced it with the long sound of the vowel, and was promptly corrected by Marie Louise. "I said it was my great-grandfather, not my niece," said the storyteller sharply. "Well, onct upon a time he was engaged in a war—the Communism war, I think it was. In the heat of battle one day he cut off a great general's head, just like that. Goodness, don't jump so, Rosemary! It rolled down a hill, bumpety-bump, swearing all the way. You see, he was a very great general and was allowed to swear all he pleased. He got his head cut off, so there's a warning for you boys never to swear. Well, Grandpa got off of his fiery steed and looked everywhere for the corpse's head. He had the body all right, but what good was a body without a head? He couldn't find it anywhere. The rest of the army came up and helped in the search, but 'twasn't any use. That general's head had disappeared as if by magic. At first it was thought they might trace it by the cuss-words it was uttering, but you see by this time everybody was swearing, so it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. They kept on hunting for nearly a week, because Grandpa wanted to send that feller's head to his widow, so's she could give it a decent burial and also get the insurance. He—"
"And so's she could get married again," broke in Frederick.
"Exactly. Well, after the war was over, Grandpa he went back to his castle to rest up for the next war, and to have his sword sharpened and his petard fixed. One dark night he was a-setting in his ante-room pondering over the past and wondering what had become of that feller's head—and also what had become of his widder, who was a most bewitching creature and would make any man a most desirable wife, especially if he didn't have one already—which Grandpa didn't. All of a sudden he heard a voice speaking to him as if from a graveyard. It said 'Good evenin', Duke!' Did I tell you my great-grandpa was a duke? Well, he was. 'Good evenin', Duke,' said the voice, coming from nowhere in—"
"Did it say it twice?" demanded Reginald.
"Four or five times," said Melissa; "because Grandpa wasn't sure he heard it the first time. He looked everywhere. Finally he saw it. It was perched right there on his knee—a awful, horrid, bluggy head with its moustache twisted up like Swanson's on Sunday. It—Oh, Lordy!"
Mr. Bingle entered the nursery. The children stared at him as if at the long-expected ghost, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. His sandy, greyish hair which of late had been trained to lie quite sleek and precise across the widening bald-spot, was now in a state of wild disorder. It stood out "every which way," according to Melissa's subsequent description, and lent to his appearance an aspect of fierceness that was almost inconceivable. Somehow they were all surprised when this sinister figure spoke, for his voice was kind and gentle, and not at all what one might have looked for in a maniac.
"Well, well, here we are. Isn't it time you all were in bed? Off with you, like good boys and girls. Daddy won't be able to come up to see that you're tucked in to-night. I'll say good night to you now. Melissa, will you and Stokes come down to the library as soon as you've got them to bed? And please tell the other nurse-maids to come also. I don't happen to see them about anywhere. I suppose it is a general night out. I have something important to say to you all. Please be as spry as possible. I want to get it over with."
Half an hour later, Mr. Bingle received his servants in the library. It was to be noted that his hair was smoothly brushed. With him in the room was a young man who was recognised by a few of the servants as Mr. Epps, a clerk from the lawyers' offices. From Diggs down to the boy whose sole duty it was to feed the robins and squirrels in the park—all were there, a curious and strangely depressed assemblage.
The master, in a quiet, unemotional voice at once stated the object of the meeting. He had called them together for the purpose of giving them the required two weeks' notice, and also to pay them in full their wages up to the twentieth of the month. They were at liberty to go, however, as soon as they liked, but he desired them to know that it would be with his best wishes for their future. A letter of recommendation would be found attached to each pay envelope. He regretted exceedingly that it was not in his power to supplement this last payment by the addition of a well-deserved present to each of his faithful servitors. Circumstances over which he had no control made it impossible for him to give them more than the stipulated amount. In concluding a brief, simple tribute to their loyalty as servants and an expression of his sincere regret that they were so soon to part company, Mr. Bingle said:
"You see before you, my friends, a man who is poorer than any one of you. Yesterday I was a rich man, to-day I am as poor as Job's turkey. Poorer, if anything, for Job's turkey at least possessed a home, such as it was. To-morrow I shall receive official notification that Seawood and all that goes with it, real and personal, is no longer mine. The law has said so, and I must abide by the decision of the highest court in the land.