Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1890-04-02

quaint old-fashioned style, with knee
breaches, and a queue down his back,
and was holding his hands over the
blaze with sort of ravenous eagerness
for the warmth. He was 80 little, and
SO pale, and his teeth chartered so in
his shriveled head, that Rhoda's mo-
mentary indignation died away at once.
81 hope don't intrude," said the lit
tie old man, with the deprecating fall
setto of age. "But it's cold, very cold,
and haven't seen a fire here before in
a quarter of century"
Rhoda looked hard at him..
''Do you live near here, sir?" said
she.
The little old man nodded.
Every near" said he. ''I used to
know your Grandfather Grupp. A
Woodworking man be was, and the best
hand at a horseshoe in the country
round. All, yes knew him!"
Mrs. Walkinshaw pulled Rhoda's
sleeve surreptltiously.
Il think the poor old creature is a
little crazy" said she. "But let him
stay, let him stay and warm himself.
He can do no harm to any one, poor,
half-famished SOUL"
And still the Man in Brown talked
steadily on, his hands spread out over
the fire.
"Did he ever tell you about the
brick?" said he. ''the brick that was
burned under his very hearthstone
goldl Not great, big.tning, but little,
genteel sort of brick, that 1t would
make a miser's heart leap within him to
handle. He was peculiar old man, q
very peculiar old man. Ell? did he
ever tell you about the brick ?"
Il never saw him, sir" said Rhoda.
"Ah, true, very true said the little
old man. "You can't always keep track
of time. And it was dead secret about
the brick between him and me. He
had made great deal more money
than 1oIks had any idea of, and that
was his way of taking care of it. Of
course | may depend upon you not to
mention it?"
81 don't understand you, sir" said
Rhoda, her veins chilled with certain
awe. and, in the same moment, the Man
in Brown looked at a furnished little
silver watch which hung at his side.
"It's late," said he, slater than | had
any idea of. 'Good evening, ladies, I
hope I haven't intruded Good even
ing"
1t was late next morning when Mrs.
Walkinshaw and Rhoda knocked at Mr..
Giddlng's door and told their tale.
The old man, the nearest neighbor to
the deserted Jorge, turned pale.
"It's Ben Haverstraw !" said he.
sold Ben Haverstraw, who has Eeen
dead and buried in the little church
yard back of the forge these forty
years He used to play cards with
your Grandfather Grupp, Miss Rhody.
many night, after the Jorge was shut
up and folks supposed everybody was
abed and asleep. My father has de-
little mai in brown clothes, with black
silk stockings and knee breaches, q
Queue hanging down his back, and
braid of seals at his fob. Folks said he
was in league with the Evil One. He
wasn't good associate for your Grand
father Grupp, anyhow. Yes, yes! He's
dead full forty years, and maybe
longer"
"But that is nonsense ?" cried Rhoda.
It was no ghost that we saw. 1t was a
little old fashioned traveller, who was
cold and tired, and came in for little
rest"
"Did you see him come in ?" demand
ed Mr.. Gliding.
NO." acknowledged Rhoda.
''Did you see him go out"
And again Rhoda and her mother
were compelled to answer in the mega
tive. He was gone. That was all they
knew about it.
"Ah!" said neighbor Gliding. "I
thought SO. S'pose we just call my son
Abram and the hired man, with crow
bar or so, and pry up that there old
hearthstone? P'raps it won't do no
good. Certainly it won't do no harm !"
They pried up the sunken old stone,
and there, under the corner. was tar
nished brick of gold-of solid gold,
welded together as only skilled work
man in metals could have welded it +!
All this happened years ago. A hand
:ome modern residence now stands |
where once the forge-lights cleaned
'ullenly out upon the night, and Rhoda
lives there with her step-mother.
Farmer Walkinshaw would fain have |
patched up peace when his daughter |
became SO unexpectedly an heiress, but
Rhoda absolutely declined treaty Of |
any sort whatsoever.
Mother and suit each other" she
said. 1--WE never have suited you.
Things are better as they are.''
But to this day, the wiseacres of the |
neighborhood can never agree about !
the Little Man in Brown. The idealists |
set the whole thing down as we'll |
ghost story. The practi-
cal members of society call it a dream,
4 fancy, mere Pigment of the imagina- |
ton, oddly pieced on to forgotten |
story. Rhoda and her mother, them
selves, do not know what to think.
And tourists often leave the train at |
Grupp's Forge station, and come across
the fields to look at the sunken tomb
stone which marks the last resting
place of Capt. Benjamin Haverstraw,
who died June s, 1880, and his friend,
Heber Grupp, buried close at his side.
Its very strange" they say. every
strange, indeed Really there is no
accounting for some things"
Anything to Amuse an Audience.