He took an instant to assure himself he was not mistaken, then put out his own lantern and stepped behind a tree to await his visitor. In a few moments he saw his brother, pick in hand, advance to the spot, and heard him exclaim: "What! somebody has been here before me, but they must have left hurriedly, for nothing is taken." Harry waited no longer, but stepping from behind the tree, informed his brother that his time had come, and suiting his action to his words, seized his unfortunate victim by the throat. For a time they struggled, but the first comer, made strong by drink and frenzy, soon conquered, and left his opponent dead upon the ground. The next morning a neighbor discovered the remains, but the murderer was never seen again. Strange to say, however, he only took from the bell just what belonged to him, leaving the rest as he had found it.

The remains of the murdered man were buried in the old churchyard from which the bell was taken, and a few days later his fiancee, who had died from the shock of the news, was laid by his side. The bell was soon replaced in the church tower, and rings out each Sunday morning, as it has done since the time of good Queen Anne. It is

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said that upon every anniversary of this horrible event the bell tolls, and suppressed groans are heard in the time-honored tower.'

One evening an old Indian, the last of his race, sat at the door of his wigwam watching the fading rays of the chill October sun disappear from the western sky, when two roughlooking men and a dog crossed the farther end of the clearing. The chief, whose head the ashes of time had long since whitened, recognized the newcomers at once to be members of a band of Skinners, supposed some mischief might be brewing, and resolved to follow the miscreants.