Beverly banner. [volume] (Beverly, N.J.) 1877-1964, 1889-09-28

are OuIy bWO Vi US.
Betsey shrugged her shoulders.
Two must eat, said she, as we'll as
two.and-twenty.'
And she went back into the kitch-
en-.
Hired help Sort o'sot 10 her ways,
said Mrs. Smith, 'ain't she p
She is very good, faithful, SER
want saidsl, referring to my list of ar
ticles needed.
How dye like heer?' questioned
Abigail, ; she measured out a modi-
cum of condensed milk.
Very WE'LL | responded, secretly
wondering how many times had al
ready answered the question.
'Hain't seen nothing queer bout the
place, be yer
Queer ? l repeated. what should
l see-queer.
Abigail Smith craned her neck to
look beyond me into the long wainsco-
ted entry.
Hired help can't hear me, can she ?
wbisped she mysteriously.
IVY bat do you mean ?
wal, it was a sister-in-law o'mine
lived here, ten years. said Abigail,
with the self-satisfed air of one who
has tale to unfold 'as told me there
was sights and sounds. Hain't the
hired help said nothin' to you about
itY
NO.
Its just as well mebbe, said Abb
gail, gathering up her reins and pre-
pairing to drive on.
stopped her with an imperative
gesture.
Stop, said l. 4 insist on an expla-
nation. There must be some meaning
to your word. What is it?
odd Miles Moneygale built the
house, said Abigail Smith 'He and
his wife was dreadful queer folks.
They had little niece lived with 'em
as people said had money of her own
"a likely child, with long yellow hair
aud the prettic 1t 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 as rich people after that. But
folks always celebrated - mind,
though, there wasn't no proof in it
there was foul play that the child
never came to her end by fair means.
And every family that lived here, said
they've seen child, where there
wasn't nothing but sea and sky. And
they've been most sure they heard
child's voice cryiu' cut, down cellar
felt myself growing chill all over,
but somehow | contrived to utter the
word:
Nonsense
That's what tell 'em,' said Abigail,
the wife of Peter. 'Hew could it be ?
But, all the same, that's one reason it
amt been easy to sell the Place. |
wouldn't let the hired help know if |
were you. They're dreadful apt to be
superstitious, hired help is. Nothing
more to-day Wal, good mornin'!
And shaking the reins above the
drowsy pony's back, she drove away,
leaving me standing there on the thres-
hold in sort of maze.
OF course it was nonsense-supersti
tion-the outcome of foolish nursery
tales but for all of that, it made me
feel uncomfortable.
However in the intense morning
sunshine, ! managed to laugh it away.
When the, night came on, dark and
loaded with the ominous murmurings
of coming storm, things assumed
quite different aspect.
was half sorry that | had bought
the cottage. l began to wonder wheth-
er it could be possible to dispose of it.
without any actual loss. And-tbis
is the strangest of alas sat there ]
heard the unmistakable sound of
child's halfsmothered laugh.
4 will not endure this T cried,
starting with nervous energy 10 my
feet. I'll 60 and sit with Be sey in
the kitchen first
The door leading in the kitchen was
unfastened, and gave way instantly at
the pressure of my hand.
l found myself in the cheerful,
lighted room, where Betsey Bamford
sat at her needle work, with little,
fair haired child playing with some
scallop-shells at her feet.
/ looked incredulously from one to
the other.
'Betsey,' said I, what is this ?
Betsey's work dropped to her feet;
she rose up as stiff as hoop-pole.
'Ma'am, said she Il moved you find
it out, sooner or later. and mebbe it's
jest as well sooner. | can't say I'm
sorry, for it's nothin' more than my
bounden duty I've been doing. But
| felt dreadful guilty, with this baby
in the house, and me a-keepn' Sc
cret from yoa. And if you say go,
why it must be
While she spoke, the fair haired
child looked smilingly up into my
face.
'De'1 ey, said [, who is this ?
Its my brothers. child, ma'am,
said Betsey. "A poor little orphan, -
has no one to care for her but me.
When we lived in the city, ma'am, l
could see her every day, when | went
out of errands, or when my work was
done at night. | hired her board |
with The widow Baker, motherly
soul as ever was, but when l come out
here, l missed her more than tongue
can tell. And what was | to do.
ma'am--for ell knowed you wesn't
fond of children-when one night
little Flora made her appearance at
this very doors And the child had
walked, ma'am, if you please, all the
way from New York, askin' her way
here and there, aud once in a while