"Who are they?" said he. "I am sure there is somebody I know."
The other adjusted his glasses and looked. "I do not know," said he, "except that one of the men is a new-comer. We somehow grow to know who are new-comers by the time we have lived here a little while."
"Dear me!" cried Colonel Singelsby, stopping abruptly, "I know that man. I did not know that he had come here too. I wonder where they are going?"
"I think," said the reverend gentleman, dryly—"I think that this is one
of those cases of which I just spoke to you. I judge from the general appearance of the party that they are about to ascend, as they call it here, to a higher state."
"That is impossible!" said Colonel Singelsby. "That man is a poor wretched creature whom I have helped with charity again and again, it cannot be that he is to go to a higher state, for he is not fit for it. If he is to be taken anywhere, it must be to punishment."
The other shrugged his shoulders and said nothing, he had seen such cases too often during his sojourn to be deceived.
The little party had now come close to the two, and Colonel Singelsby stepped forward with all his old-time frank kindness of manner. "Why, Sandy," said he, "I did not know that you also had come here."
"Yes, sir," said Sandy; "I died the same night you did."
"Dear me!" said the Colonel, "that is very singular, very singular indeed! Where are you going now, Sandy?"