It was a pretty little cottage, wooden, old-fashioned, a story and a half high, with a long veranda, a shady door-yard, and a sunny garden.  I bought it as it was, furniture included, of a gentleman who was about to remove southward on account of his wife’s health, or, to speak more exactly, on account of her want of it.  I laugh here to think how surprised you will be when you learn that these matters have no connection with my story.  All the important events which I propose to relate might have happened had this gentleman never sold nor I purchased; and, as a proof of it, I can adduce the fact that they actually did occur some years before we enjoyed the honor of each other’s acquaintance.  But I could not resist the temptation of the episode.  I am as delighted at getting into my first house as was my little son when he poked his chubby legs into his first trousers.

“Who is my nearest neighbor?” I asked of the former proprietor, when he made his parting call.

“What, the occupant of the new house just below you?  I can tell you very little of him.  I haven’t made his acquaintance, and don’t know his name.  We call him the Mormon.”

“Mercy on us!  You don’t mean to hint at anything in the way of polygamy, I hope.  He doesn’t keep an omnibus with seats for twenty, does he?”

“No, not so bad as that.  In fact, I don’t know much about him.  I thought you were aware of his—­his style of living,” stammered my friend.  “Oh, I dare say he is respectable enough.  But then we noticed three or four women about the house, and only one man; and so we clapped the title of Mormon on him.  Nicknaming is funny work, you know,—­a short and easy way to be witty.  I believe, however, that he does pretend to be a prophet.”

“The Pilgrim Fathers protect us!  Why, he may attempt to proselytize us by force.  He may declare a religious war against us.  It would be no joke, if he should invade us with the sword in one hand, and the Koran, or whatever he may call his revelation, in the other.”

“Oh, don’t be alarmed.  He is quite harmless, and even unobtrusive.  A sad-faced, pale, feeble-looking, white-bearded old man.  He won’t attack you, or probably even speak to you.  I will tell you all I know of him.  The house was built under his direction about six months ago.  I understand that the women own it, and that they are not relatives according to the flesh, but simply sisters in faith.  They have some queer sort of religion which I am shamefully ignorant of.  At all events, they believe this old gentleman to be a prophet, and consider it a duty or a pleasure to support him.  That is the extent of my knowledge.  I hope it doesn’t disgust you with your neighborhood?”

“By no means.  May you find as pleasant a one, wherever you settle!”

“Thank you.  Well, it is nearly train-time, and I suppose I must leave you and my old place.  I wish you every happiness in it.”