(I) There lived (and still lives, I believe) in the small Yorkshire village of Tarfield a retired doctor, entirely alone except for his servants, in a large house.

It is a very delightful house, only--when I stayed there not long ago--it seemed to me that the doctor did not know how to use it.

It stands in its own grounds of two or three acres, on the right-hand side of the road to a traveler going north, separated by a row of pollarded limes from the village street, and approached--or, rather, supposed to be approached--by a Charles II.

gate of iron-scroll work.

I say "supposed to be approached" because the gate is invariably kept locked, and access can only be gained to the house through the side gate from the stable-yard.