The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1872-03-07
WAS 1T 4 DREAM?
BY MARGARET VERNE.

Frightened half out of cur wits that
night at Mrs. Hollands, alone and
quite unprotected in the wide old
house, I wonder what put it into our
heads to sit up till past midnight, tell
ing all sorts of horrible stories of
ghosts, murders md robberies. It mus
have been the perversity Of our woman
natures, for know, all the time we
were talking and listening, We started
at every sound, and hardly dared glance
over our shoulders.
| There were six Of US besides Mrs.
Holland invited to spend the night
with that lady fer the sole purpose Of
keeping her in good heart during her
husbands brief absence. do not
know how it was, but late that after
noon she had found herself left in the
lurch by her only man. servant, and so
bad gathered this group of chattering,
rattle-braiued girls about her. Her
place was on tho outskirts of Western
city, somewhat retired AID, although
from its windows Of nights, the lights
OF the town could be plainly seon.
I don't know how our tongues got
such mistaken subject. I know that
Belle Sloan played and sang io a way
so charming that hobgoblins ought to
have been a long way from our thoughts.
We recited poems, discussed the FASH
ions, danced, read, and last but not
least lunched, all before we ventured
to look into Bluebeard's chamber.
| 1t might have been the sight Of the
silver on the sideboard, or tea urn up
on the table that first started It. l
know that Mrs. Holland was very care
ful about locking up the plate, and sug.
gested that some one should put the
key Of the sideboard under their pillow
when they went to bed that night. I
remember, too, that Gertrude Haws was
the only one who had courage eaough
to pocket the disagreeable charge.
| OF I'LL the terrible things that were
relates, and am sure each one We'd
with the other in telling frightfal sto-
ries, none affected me as did an "ower
true tale" told by Caroline Mcdowell,
and vouched for by her cousin Lucy
| At this date do not remember all its
details l only know that soma aunt,
uncle or cousin Of the family rented
a house near city. That when they
took possession Of it, it seemed the
most delightful as we'll as the most de-
sirable Of places; but when they bad
occupied it week or two feeling Of
disquiet and unrest came over each
member of the family.
Though there was nothing unusual
heard, and everything was as quiet and
we'll ordered as in any home, they soon
got in way Of budding together about
the parlor fire OF nights, dreadiDg to
separate when bedtime came, and look.
log feartully over their shoulders as
they went into the hall and up the long
stairway. Though the house had a
southern and eastern exposure the
rooms grew damp and cheerless, an un-
canay atmosphere constantly pervadiug
them. They did not talk of ghosts or
spirits, for none of the family believed
that tue dead cane back from their
homes to terrify or annoy us here, but
that there was nameless something
that disturbed them they grew to have
little doubt.
They were not given to discussing
their affairs among their friends and
neighbors, so they took counsel OF none
outside. Indeed, not for many, many
weeks did the members Of the family
confess that anything Was wrong, or
seemed wrong ia their new home
Coming to mutual confession, at last,
did not mend matters in the least.
The something about and above and
below them seemed to take license from
their words of doubt and vexation.
The crisis came seen after. Whatever
it was that disturbed them, they only
saw shadow! A shadow thrown op-
poslte them on the wall of evenings,
and never seen at any other. They
were usually grouped in the center Of
the square parlor, sewing or reading,
and tbs spectre, OF more properly speak
ing, this shadow without any substance
spread itself upon tho wall, with arms
extended and head moving from one
side to the other. Queerest of all was,
that it always wore a hat and carried
handkerchief in its right hand
The story was interrupted here by a
dry remark from Hattie Brown:
"Guess the old fellow had cold"
"More likely he was bald-headed,
and kept on his hat to conceal the bare
spot" said Belle Sloan, Cor like the
old chap in the play, he couldn't take
his hat of for fear bed sneeze his head
| off,"
"How dare you?" answered Lucy
Mcdowell, who had a deal of rever-
ence for his ghostship.
"Oh, it isn't our ghost, and speaking
of bald heads reminds me of the conun-
| drum that Fanny Gleason made about
her lover: Did know why the top
of Mr.. Peters head was like heaven ?
1 cudgelled my brains for five whole
| minutes for an answer, and then had
to give it up. Well, it was because
there was no parting there! Fanny
told me that at an evening meeting, and