ways—­how for a whole month he came forth from his front door in a crouching posture, almost on all fours, so as not to disturb the work of a diadem spider that had chosen to build its web across the porch; of his professional skill, that “trust yourself to th’ Old Doctor, and he’d see you came to a natral end of some sort, and in no haste, neither;” of his habit of dress, that (when not in martial uniform) he wore a black suit with knee-breeches, silk stockings, and silver shoe-buckles; of his kindness of heart, that in the Notes of Periodic Phenomena, which he regularly kept, he always recorded a midnight gale towards the close of August, to account for the mysterious depletion of his apple-crop.

But the Old Doctor had gone to his fathers long ago, and the old house, divided into two tenements—­with access by one porch and front passage—­had been occupied for twenty years past by Nicky-Nan and (for eight or nine) by the Penhaligon family.  Nicky-Nan’s cantle overhung the river, and comprised a kitchen and scullery on the ground-floor, with a fairly large bedroom above it.  The old Doctor’s own bedroom it had been, and was remarkable for an open fireplace with two large recessed cupboards let into a wall, which measured a good four feet in depth beyond the chimney-breast.  Once, in cleaning out the cupboards, Nicky-Nan had discovered in the right-hand one that one or two boards of the flooring were loose.  Lifting them cautiously he had peered into a sort of lazarette deep down in the wall, and had lowered a candle, the flame of which, catching hold of a mass of dried cobweb, had shot up and singed his eyebrows, for a moment threatening to set the house on fire.  It had given him a scare, and he never ventured to carry his exploration further.

His curiosity was the less provoked because at least a score of the old houses in Polpier have similar recesses, constructed (it is said) as hiding-places from the press-gang or for smugglers hotly pursued by the dragoons.

The Penhaligon family inhabited the side of the house that faced the street, and their large living-room was chiefly remarkable for the beams supporting the floor above it.  They had all been sawn lengthwise out of a single oak-tree, and the outer edges of some had been left untrimmed.  From a nail in the midmost beam hung a small rusty key, around which the spiders wove webs and the children many speculations:  for the story went that a brother of the old Doctor’s—­ the scapegrace of the family—­had hung it (the key of his quadrant) there, with strong injunctions that no one should take it down until he returned—­which he never did.  So Mrs Penhaligon’s feather-brush always spared this one spot in the room, every other inch of which she kept scrupulously dusted.  She would not for worlds have exchanged lodgings with Nicky-Nan, though his was by far the best bedroom (and far too good for a bachelor man); because from her windows she could watch whatever crossed the bridge—­folks going to church, and funerals.  But the children envied Nicky-Nan, because from his bedroom window you could—­when he was good-natured and allowed you—­drop a line into the brawling river.  Of course there were no real fish to be caught, but with a cunning cast and some luck you might hook up a tin can or an old boot.