He was with me on my last visit to Bermuda, and to-day we were trying to remember when it was.

We thought it was somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty years ago, but that was as near as we could get at the date.

Twichell said that the landlady in whose boarding-house we sojourned in that ancient time could doubtless furnish us the date, and we must look her up.

We wanted to see her, anyway, because she and her blooming daughter of eighteen were the only persons whose acquaintance we had made at that time, for we were travelling under fictitious names, and people who wear aliases are not given to seeking society and bringing themselves under suspicion.

But at this point in our talk we encountered an obstruction: we could not recall the landlady's name.