She would often be lost in deep thought, with the saddest look upon her face.

More than once I have surprised her in tears. I have thought sometimes that it

was the disposition of her child which weighed upon her mind, for I have never

met so utterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. He is small for

his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large. His whole life

appears to be spent in an alternation between savage fits of passion and gloomy

intervals of sulking. Giving pain to any creature weaker than himself seems to

be his one idea of amusement, and he shows quite remarkable talent in planning

the capture of mice, little birds, and insects. But I would rather not talk

about the creature, Mr. Holmes, and, indeed, he has little to do with my

story.”


“I am glad of all details,” remarked my friend, “whether they

seem to you to be relevant or not.”


“I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one unpleasant thing

about the house, which struck me at once, was the appearance and conduct of the

servants. There are only two, a man and his wife. Toller, for that is his name,

is a rough, uncouth man, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual smell

of drink. Twice since I have been with them he has been quite drunk, and yet

Mr. Rucastle seemed to take no notice of it. His wife is a very tall and strong

woman with a sour face, as silent as Mrs. Rucastle and much less amiable. They

are a most unpleasant couple, but fortunately I spend most of my time in the

nursery and my own room, which are next to each other in one corner of the

building.


“For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life was very

quiet; on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after breakfast and whispered

something to her husband.


“‘Oh, yes,’ said he, turning to me, ‘we are very

much obliged to you, Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to