The Brookhaven ledger. (Brookhaven, Miss.) 1875-1883, 1881-09-15

every part of the house where
board or timber gave promise ofhav
ing hollow space behind it. Al
he grew older, the conviction whicl
had so early taken possession o
him became a mania which bad,
fair to be the making, or the mar
ling, of his future life.
He was fifteen when his fathe
died, bequeathing him the estate
which, after the English fashion, he
the father, wished to keep in tn,
Henderson name, the estate beins
chargeable, of course, with the wild
ow's support.
Soon it became necessary tina
Anson should leave home to pursue
his education and the widow i'm
proved the opportunity to go among
her own friends. So. for a season
the old house had a rest.
/ When a house is shut up, yol
know how quickly it takes on lool
of neglect and decay, and so The
Henderson house which seemed :
cheerful enough residence when thu
family were in it, soon began to lool
goggle-eved and high-shoulderet
and mysterious, and Aunt Sabrina'
ghost" was reported to be fire.
ouently seen looking out the tai
narrow windows.
| When the heir was twenty-on,
he came back to claim his own
bringing with him an article whicl
his guardians and other discreet
persons deemed superfuous; name
ly, a wife.
But Arson was free now-frce il
law and in fact; he had done will
books and teachers, guardians and
advisers; he shook them all off as
Sampson did the bands of the Philis
tines.
His course now was plain before
him; to find the lost treasure and
live like gentleman.
His wife (Mary FlaXham had
been her name was blooming
merry hearted young creature, who
fitted about the old house like q
butterfly, and who seemingly took
as little thought for the morrow.
Why should she take thought
when she had husband to think
for her? A husband whom she
revered and trusted as every good
wife should, unless she can show
reason to the contrary.
Meanwhile, the place was running
down, and Anson did nothing to re-
claim it. He neither sowed nor
reaped.
SO several years went by; then
one day as Mary was. sitting in her
chamber holding the little Arson
third in her lap, her husband came
in and sat down beside her with the
air of one who has something to
disclose, as indeed he had. He did
not even speak to the boy as usual,
but struck into the midst of things
at once.
MARY" said he, Il can't stand it
any longer. I've been thinking OF
it n good while, and now Pve made
up my mind"
"To what?" asked Mary.
ITO find Aunt Sabrina's S money"
"There's nothing very new in
that" said Mary, laughing gally;
"at least, in trying to find it,"
''No, but there is something in
the way of doing it," said he.
rs there? What can it be?' ask
ed she.
"To pull the house down." said
he.
so Anson." cried Mary, "but
you're joking-of course you're
joking"
Not bit of it-never was more
in earnest in my life. You see that
the cabinet is somewhere in the
house; there is no doubt about that.
Aunt Sabrina was seen to have it
the day before she had her stroke,
and she never left the house after.
wards, till she was carried out"
$50 l have always heard" said
Mary.
"Then the cabinet must be here
unless she took it into the next
world with her-as no doubt she
would if she could" said Anson.
"But is 1t certain that it contain-
ed treasurer" asked Mary.
Certain? AS certain as anything
is. You're the first person that
ever questioned it. My father be-
lieved it-everybody believed it; if
there was proof enough to satisfy
her contemporaries, there's proof
enough to satisfy us. But what S
the use of arguing a question that
was settled before you and l were
torn:"
"Not much, to be sure" said
Mary.
81 should say so. There's moth
ing so very strange, either, in mis-
erly old woman hiding her money
they're always doing it-and moth
ing so strange in my looking for il,
that you should make such an ado
about it. Think of folks that have
been hunting after Captain Kidd S
treasure ever since he tucked it
away somewhere a hundred years
ago or more"
HAS anybody ever found it?" ask
ed Mary.
mo; but they would if there was
nothing but one old house in the
way"
20 Anson, spare the old house
your father meant it to stand IL
Henderson name-he meant it as
home for YOU, and for mother Hen
derson, and this dear cnild-thougt
he never saw him'-and she KISSED
the boy on her knee. ''He thought
YOU would love it Tor his sake, as
do, Anson. And l love it for itself
too. There isn't Il nook nor a cor
ner in it that / don't love. Thes'
quaint old window seats, thes'
great chimneys, this oak walnscot
ting. how charming they al seemed
to me when l came here as you
wife, and how charming they ar
still, And such stories as they tel
of the Colonel, your grandfather
and the old Revolutionary days
and of all the people who have liv-
ed ard died here! l would no NOR
disturb one brick, or one clapboard
than would disturb their graves. !.
Never in all mis- married life hat
Anson heard his wife make SO Ion!
speech before. Never had h
1