The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1877-10-26
GHOSTS.
ny MARY KYLE DALLAS.

Old Miss Carney walked up the long
green lane on her way home from tea
drinking. She wore brown silk
dress and brown bonnet, and carried
large brown parasol in her hand.
The browns We're of different shades,
and ran softly into each other, like the
tints upon dove. All the lines of
her figure were smooth and rounded.
She was very pretty old lady indeed,
and must have been very pretty girl,
though she was spinster, and people
who believed that all the unmarried
women were left upon the bOughs of
single blcssedncss because they tempt
ed nobody to pluck them must have
owned that it could not be so in her
case.
Down the lane, coming toward her,
walked gentleman. He was tall and
broad, his hair was gray, and his sum-
mer suit was gray; his beard was gray
also. He oddly enough, was softly shad-
ed off like another sort of dove. The
green trees were all about them both,
the green grass beneath their feet.
The big roses of Sharon nodded over
the fence. If these had been two
young people instead of two old people,
one might have fancicd it a lovers rem
devious; but they were old. OF
course, there could be no romance
about them.
In the middle of the lane, shaded by
great chestnut trees stood, an old house.
Honey suckle vines draped the porch.
There was an old fashioned sweep TO
the well. 1t was altogether thing of
the past-no modern cottage of archi-
tectural mysteries and wisteria vines.
1t was so old fashioned that il must
have been the same when those two old
people were young. Yes, when their
parents were born doubtless it stood.
by 10 means new house, Just rs il
stood now.
The pretty old lady in brown reach
ed the gate of this house first. She lift
ed the latch and stood looking down
the road, thinking that it must be
that the handsome old gentleman in
gray had lost his way and would i'll
quire it of her, for the lane was no
thoroughfare, because of a fence and a
gate and tin sign, with "All persons
are forbid to trespass upon these
grounds" nailed upon it. The old
lady's father had tackled up the sign the
day after the tin-peddler had stolen all
his Kathrine pears. No ncighbor
minded it, but strangers did. So the
old lady waited courteously to tell the
stranger that he might take the short
cut through the orchard if he chose.
''He walks like somebody | know.
Who can it be?'' she asked herself.
Then she suddenly blushed and look
| 4 ...,I..
it could not be because no one had car
ed to pluck her that she remained 4
faded rose upon the branch-Miss Car
ney, not Mrs. anybody.
On came the old gentleman in his
gray coat, and as he looked at the li.tlC
old lady, he dofled his gray felt hat.
"Madam,' he said, 'this is where
Mr.. Edwin Carney used to live,
know. Does he live here now?"
But the Old lady looked at him will
sudden start.
"Oh' she cried, and added, "No, ht
does not"
"IIe is" began the old gentleman.
at is his tombstone that you can see
under the great willow in the highest
part of the churchyard,' she said
pointing through the trees. "IIc was
eighty when he died.
"Time flies fast" said the old gentle
man.
ssFearfully fast" siged the old lady.
She was not looking at him now, bu
at the flowers in the border at her feet {.
"Mr. Carney was a widowcr when
knew him, and had but one child;
daughter" said the old gentleman il
gray. "She is living, is she not?"
"Yes," said the old lady.
"But she cannot be Miss Carney
still" said the old gentleman.
"But she is" said the old lady, ant
looked him in the face again.
Their eyes met. Hers were browI
and his were gray.
"Peoplc alter out of knowledge il
forty years." said she; ''and how oi
earth | come to know you, don
know, for you look like your owl
grandfather, Martin Turner"
"Ask the old gentleman TO walk il
then, Miss Carney" said he; ''for III
ought to be more weary than he used t,
grow on the same road n lifetime ago
coming from the mill, you remember
, Priscy, every Sunday evening""
"Did you?' said she, pretending t.
forget. "Oh, yes! of course III asl
YOU to walk in, Mr.. Turner"
She turned. lie followed her
They sat down in the parlor-one o.
either side of the polished table.
Over il, between the windows, hum
the looking-glass with the narrow gil
frame. The bookcase, with Fox
Book ofMartyrs, and the old dictionary
' and the row of biographies ofpious per
hn h..t f,l
' piece were the shell flowers under glass
There was the stiff sofa with Tn
black cushion like slice Ola flute
column; there were the six chairs T.
match, and the claw-footcd sideboard
!. There had been no children to brea
+. or scratch things. All was the same a
when he left it last and saw Miss Can
ney standing in the middle of the flooi
with her long black hair in curls abou
her shoulders, and a blue ribbo
around her waist. Now he looked q
b. her, and she was old and stout, bu
somehow she seemed to be nobody els
but Priscy Carney.
She saw him looking from the furn
turc to her face, and Interpreted hi
thought.
eyes" she said, almost angrily, "i
it not arrange? There are the bits c
wood and glass and china, just as the
used to be. There are the oak trees
only finer and greener. The yer
!, grass and flowers might be the same
4 = and here am |, old and faded and lone
", and my handsome, bright-eyed fail
L er dead in his grave, and all | care fo
gone. / wish l were gone also.
think people who have not seen eac