Connecticut western news., 1889-04-10


 F 1.-Two must eat," said she, ''as we'll as two and twenty"
 And she went back into the kitchen.
 'Hired helpl Sort O sot in he ways" said Mrs. Smith, 'ain't shes"
 'She is very good, faithful seq want" said I, referring to my list of ar ticles needed.
 "How dye like it herea' questioned Abigail, as she measured out a~modlcum of condensed milk.
 "Very well," I responded, secretly wondering how many times I had al- ready answered the question.
 "Haint seen nothin' queer bout the place, hev ye?"
 "Queera" repeated. "What should I see-queer9"
 Abigail Smith craned her neck to look beyond me into the long, vain scoted entry.
 "Hired help can't hear me, can she9' whispered she, mysteriously.
 ''What do you mean?" "Wal, it was ister- in-law O mine lived here, ten year ago." said Abigail, with the self satisfied air of one who has tail to unfold, Gas told me there was strange sights and sounds. Hain't the hired help said nothin' to you about it2"
 "No." "It's just as well mebbc," said Abi- gail, gathering up her reins and prepar- ing to drive on.
 stopped her with an imperative ges- ture.
 "Stop!"' said I. 'I insist upon an explanation. There must be some mean ing to your words. What is it2'
 cold Miles Moneygale built the house," sad Abigail Smith. ''He and his wife were dreadful queer folks. They had little niece lived with lem as peo- pie said had money of her own-a like ly child with long yellow hair and the prettiest complexion you ever seen. One night they found her dead at the foot of the cellar steps. Miles Moneygale was the heir, and they sold the house and moved out west, and lived like rich peo- pie arter that, But folks allays calcer- lated-mind, though, there want no l proof of it-that there was foul play; | that that child never came to her end by fair means. And every family that's lived here sence, they've seen little child, where there want nothin' but sea and sky. And they've been most sure they heard child's voice cryin' out, down cellar"
 l felt myself growing chill all over, but somehow I contrivcd to utter the word:
 "Nonsense"
 "That's what tell 'cm," said Abi- gail, the wife of Peter. "How could it be2 But, all the same, that's one req son it ain't been easy to sell the place. I wouldn't let the hired help know if was you. They're dreadful apt to be superstitious, hired help is. Nothing more to-day7 Wal, good-mornin' p
 And shaking the reins above the drowsy pony's back, she drove away, leaving me standing there on the thresh- old in sort of maze.
 Of course it was nonsense-supersti- tion-the outcome of foolish nursery tales; but, for all that, it made me feel uncomf ortable.
 However, in the intense morning sum- shine, manage to laughit away. When the night came on, dark and loaded with the ominous murmurings of com. ing storm, things assumed quite diff. ferent aspect.
 was half sorry that I had bought the cottage. 1 began to wonder whether it would be possible to dispose of i without any actual loss. And-this i the strangest of alas I sat there heard the unmistakable sound of child's half-smothered laugh.
 ''I will not endure this!' I cried starting with nervous energy to my feet
 'trll go and sit with Bctsey in tn kitchen first"
 The door leading into the kitchen wa fastened, but the bolt was old and rust 3 ed, and gave way instantly before tn , pressure of my haad. f found myself in the cheerful lighte, 7, room, where Betsey Bamford sat at he 6 needle work, with a little, fair-haire,
 child playing with some scallop-shell
 at her feet.
 Q looked incredulously from one to tn D other.
 "Betsey," said I, "what is this?" a Betsey's work dropped to her feet she rose up as stiff as hoppole. | "Ma'am," said she, 'I knowed you''
 find it out, sooner or later, and mebb I it's jest as we'll sooner. can't say rr f sorry, fer it's nothin' more than m p bounden duty I've been doing. But Iv
 felt dreadful guilty, with this baby i 1T the house, and me a-keepin' secret fro1 |. you. And if you say go, why go it mus
 bep
 D While she spoke, the fair-haired chil
 looked smilingly up into my face. j. 'Betscy," said I. faintly, 'who