Chapter 3   Man's life is all a mist, and in the dark Our
fortunes meet us.  John had been thinking about building his own
home for some time and he resolved to begin it at once. Yet this
ancient Hatton Hall, with its large, low rooms, its latticed
windows and beautifully carved and polished oak panelings, was
very dear to him. Every room was full of stories of Cavaliers
and Puritans. The early followers of George Fox had there found
secret shelter and hospitality. John Wesley had preached in its
great dining-room, and Charles Wesley filled all its spaces and
corridors with the lyrical cry of his wonderful hymns. There
were harmless ghosts in its silent chambers, or walking in the
pale moonlight up the stairs or about the flower garden. No one
was afraid of them; they only gave a tender and romantic
character to the surroundings. If Mrs. Hatton felt them in a
room, she curtsied and softly withdrew, and John, on more than
one occasion, had asked, "Why depart, dear ghosts? There is room
enough for us all in the