Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1869-04-08


ofthe lovely valley in which Norman
ford lies warm and sheltered beyond
which, the country becomes more fruit
ful aud open. il less picturesque
White Grange was gray. old, storm
beaten building, and bore the date o
1895 carved above its rude porch
Near it stood barn, and few other
out-buildings, the whole surrounded BY
ruinous. moss-grown wall : beyond
which you came at once upon the bleak
high mooriand. open toevery wind that
blew. In one of these out-houses was
the well from which in former times
the family supply OF water had been
drawn. Connected with this well, there
was n dark story Of murdered trav-
ellcr whose body had been thrown into
it which, whether true or false. gave
the place an uncanny reputation
through the countryside.
White Grange seems to have been un-
fortunate in its tenants for long
series of wears. Such a story as that
of the murdered traveller would hardly
attach itself 10 any reputable house
hold an old Job Sandyson, as we have
seen. was by m means the most respcc-
table of men, Tne farm was now held
by brothcr-in-law Of job. man nam
cd Nathan Orchard. to whom the fami-
ly reputation clung tenaciously. and
not. perhaps, without reason. lie was
a hari-drinking. hard-swcaring. money
grasping old reprohatc. this Nathan
Orchard dislikci and feared at every
market and country fair which he at
tended; and although no overt act of
dishonesty could fairly be- laid to his
charge. there were whispered rumors
in plenty. among those of his own sta
tion IN life, Of acts that any honest
Monkshirc farmer would have blushed
20 own: Of sorry, spawned hacks doc
torei NJ aud sold at distant fairs as
sound Young horses of mildewed
wheat, with covering of wholesome
grain, sold under fictitious ramc aud
address Of a forged Bank of England
note for iifly pounds traced homc To-
him, which he sworc to having received
ftom some unknown man in part-pay-
ncnt Of an account together with 9th
er tribes needless to specify here.
Nathan household consisted Of him
sell and four chiidren-two sons and
two daughters. all grown up; together
with an old crolc, who acted the part
of domestic drudge. \ rough, ignorant.
crew they were, the sons
following closely in the footsteps OF
their father. and the two girls being
duplicates in softer clay Of their broth
ers.
In room on the upper hoor OF
White Grange. two women were seated
one winiery afternoon. II was room
with wide, old-fashioned fireplace. aud
\ Stout oaken door, and thick beam
across the ceiling-a beam with
strong hook in il, from which depended
n fragment Of rope, darhly suggestive
Of foregonc suicide room w.th two
windows, arros, each
Of which. on the inside, ran Two stout
iron bars, and in this respect different
from any other windows in the house.
Why the windows in this room should
he barred, rather than those OF any
other room, was one OF the mysteries
pf White Grange. which Nathan Or
chard himself would have been quite
unable - exp lain.
The Younger Of the two females.
stout. ruddy- checked lass, was seated
at one of those old-fashioncd spinning
wheels which are becoming rarer every
day, and grooming some country dittv
- herself A. she worked She was
Nathan Orchards Youngest daughter
The elder Of the two females is known
to the reader already, She being, in
deed. none other than Madame Marie. !
Jane Carols sometime loigcr at
Station. and the woman
of whose murder Mr. Duplessis had
been wrongfully suspected. But she
was much changed since we saw her
last. In the first place, there seemed |
nothing left Of her but skin and bone, /
so thin and iieshless had she become. /
Her long black hair had all been cut
of during the tit Of raving madness /
which superyened upon her abduction |
and forciblc confinement at White /
Grange; and although it had grown I
since that time, il WAS still /.
a. short as that Of man. Her dress. |
too. was rather out of the common way. /
outwardly. as it did, of 4
rel flannel dressing-robe. which, al 1
though it reached to the ground when
she walked, did not hide, as she sat |
there, her bare feet. thrust loosely into 4
A pair of old slippers. 1t was her /
whim TO be dressed thus. and neither I
nor threats could induce I
her to alter the style of her costume. /
Just now, she was painfully and labor
louslv busy with her needle. stitching
q dolls clothes: that was her occupa- /
ton day after day, the dressing of
dolls. and instructions were given that |
her whim in this respect should be graf
ified. A quiet, harmless form of mad
ness that expends itself on such tribes,
is infinitely preferable to the vagaries !
Of raging lunatic. So she dressed asd !
undressed her dolls, of which she had
about a dozen in all {; and talked to
them, and scolded them, and caressed
them, as any child of six might have |
done. She had sweet voice; and
sometimes, in the twilight, she would
sing little French love-songs to her
dolls. trihes which had in them q pathos
all their own, such even as touch some
times-although she did not under
stand the words-the unsusceptible
heart of Peg Orchard, her youthful Jail
er. Sometimes she would fall into
fit of sullen brooding. which would last
for couple Of days, during which time