Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1880-03-05
paint and pap,r changed the rooms as

trees, cut the grass, trimmed the ragged
vines, rehung the shutters, and made {
small paradise out of the reclaimed
| lawn.
When all was completed, there wa,
no place for ghosts in those wide. sunny
rooms. My bedroom was the pleasant
est room Of all, facing the east, anC
| looking out upon the pear trees, the
| hollyhocks and the river. Pink haC
been my color when a girl, so l took 9
fancy my room should be all pink. The
dull drab paper, with green vines wan
dering about and clutching aimlessly al
nothing all over it, wAs changed for 4
delicate pink and white. The carpet
was pink and white, the color under tbs
cheap muslin pillow shams was pink,
the lace curtains hung over pink shades
and were looped back with pink rib
bOns, making as whole too rose-hued
bower for any specter to fancy
l believe l was as entirely happy,
after getting settled that first week, as
any one could be who had lived in
one of her own for the first time.
| had but one distaste for the place,
and that ws IS for the basement, which
covered with clinging vines, was rotten
underneath. 1t had formerly been 9
cellar-kitchen, but was now fallen into
disuse, and full of refuse piles of lumber,
old cans and unused rubbish. The
heavy vines grown over the broken
bricks had made it damp and noisome
place, and l never cared to explore it,
or to put it to any use, except the por-
tion directly under the trapdoor going
down from the kitchen. l had Martha
Ann clean away space here, and fill a
cupboard with canned fruit, vegeta bles,
etc.
l grew to have dread of this dark
and cheerless cellar, and never came out
of it without shivering, though l would
not own it even to myself.
1t had scarcely been my receptacle for
fruit day before began to miss things
in most mysterious manner. Before l
could realize it there would be glass
of jelly, pie, a loaf of cake, a melon,
or plate of peaches gone. | could ac-
cuse no one but the ghosts and Martha
Ann, and she had always heretofore
been the soul of truth and honor.
Twice | tancied, when in the cellar, |
had heard sigh and rustic of ghostly
garments, and l could have sworn
heard the wailing of a yyung child
several times; but | would have died
rather than own this to my husband.
Martha Ann" said I, one day, COM
ing up in great haste from the cellar,
"do ghosts like picked fgsp"
g am sure | don't know, ma'am y
Martha AIMS eyes are as wide, as in
nocent and unquailing as ever.
No11 &c .,i- 1ol
figs my cousin sent me from California,
that was saving till mother came to
visit me? Well, they are two-thirds
gone, as well as that pie that was laid
away expressly for Charlie! What am
to think"
l am angry and excited. Martha
Ann says nothing, as usual. but | see
her tears are quietly falling over the
dish-apron she is hemming / am rather
relieved the day after when she asks me
for months vacation to visit her sick
grandmother | do not like to accuse
her of theft, and would like to be
alone to ferret out this mystery. Ihave
fresh bolts put on the cellar-doOrs, and
the chinks in the bricks filled in. The
trap-door keep fastened down with
heavy weights, still the depredatious
go on-pies, cakes, ice-cr left in the
freezers, cream off the milk, portion
of every available thing i0 missing from
day to day.
/ am too proud to confide in Charlie,
but my life is getting to be a burden
One bright September day l sit down in
the kitchen in tears, with my feet in the
oven, and would fain cover my head
with my apron, like Artery Flintwinch
in " Little Dorrit, to shut out the faint
walls OF some child that am sure are
coming from the cellar.
Martha Ann will not be home for two
weeks; am tired out and discouraged
Charlie will be home in half an hour tC
five o'clock dinner, and the spirits
have eaten all the cold roast and tart.
| that have laid away for that especia
banquet
shall be forced to tell him that fol
my hardihood in making him buy this
haunted house, he is destined to go OF
half-rations generally, think with {
sob, when hear a faint step below anC
see the trap-door slowly rising, and til,
blanched face and thin shoulders of I
woman, with a skeleton child in he
arms, coming into view.
Can believe my eyesP Yes, it is th'
shrunken, faced form of Grace Wool
son, which | know in an instant, though
the sunken eyes and claw-like hands ant
skeleton figure, make but silhouette O
the rosy, dimpled girl remember.
l am not q nervous woman, and
have expected this ghost to appear s,
long, that do not scream or faint ava,
when she comes toward me, and tn
pathetic, dropping air with which sh
holds out the visionary baby, and thel
bursts into such human agony of tears
would make one feel tender and akin f.
even hobgoblin.
"Oh, Amy" she gasped, "you are
good woman, and will you try and saw
my child's lifeP If it had not been dy
ing should have staid hidden always
but | knew you would help me if yo
could. | was sorry to take your fig
and things, and would not if / couI
have kept from starving; but fo
mothers sake have. hidden in you
cellar three months, for l knew she an
Geoffry Clare would find me if the
could"
1T is his child, thenp" l asked, nc
with any idle curiosity, but much
one would frame question to fill
| pause.
YES" she said, simply.
"Well, II have not word of blam
for you. | nearly went crazy myse
: in love with him once, and had not &C
been very kind to me, I might ha,
been as badly off as you. We will say
I the baby if we can"
/ have pulled her into chair while
3 am talking, ard am holding the baby
chilled feet to the fire, feeling its feeb
1 pulse, and noticing how faint and gas
/ ing is its breath, and the clammy swe
t on its temples, while Grace is talkii
4 with the zest of a man just out of priso
e and longing to hear the sound of b
0 voice again.
}, "When people missed me first, I hi
:, gone to the New York hospita1 whe