The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1890-05-13

How interesting! exclaimed Polly,
81 am sure / shall find ghost"
But SO many uneventful months had
passed since she enSconced herself in the
rooms, that she had almost forgotten to
| expect a ghost until tonight, when a
noise of slippered feet walking over a
hard bare floor had awakened her
She sat for a long time, her eyes fixed
upon the little door, expecting every
| moment that ghostly hand would undo
the hidden lock, and a ghostly form
emerge from the darkness beyond. Her
maid found her still sitting, and fast
asleep, the next morning when she
came TO awaken her.
''My pretty Polly will have a gloomy
day of it, fear" said her father when
he kissed her goodbye. ''It is raining
in torrents"
''Oh, that is delightful" said Polly;
81 shall have good, quiet, lazy, dreamy
day of it, just such day as one should
have after an episode with a ghost"
Though the rain battered soothingly
upon the windows, and the warmth and
glow within were conducive to day
dreaming, Polly soon found the hours
of idleness growing tedious.
Il shall try again." she said, at last,
Ito see if / can open the little door
which am sure leads to my ghost"
Polly was light and graceful and agile,
SO to scramble from the back of the big
chair to the top of the bookcase was but
the work of moment. The little door,
which was sunken in the wall above,
was of black oak, richly carved. Polly
searched it closely to see if she could
find any possible way to open it. Sud-
denly, almost by chance, her fingers
touched little spot in the eye of one
of the carved griffins, spring clicked,
and the door few open in her face.
Polly gave a scream, and sank down
upon the top of the bookcase. She
waited a moment: no sign, no sound re-
suited from her successful effort, and
she stood up and peered through the
doorway. Gradually, as her eyes be-
came accustomed to the semi-darkness,
she began TO distinguish the objects in
the little room beyond. There was a
case of books, large square table, and
one chair, big and coy and comfortable
looking.
Polly's father had always called her a
plucky girl, and now she hesitated only
a moment, then stepped up through the
opening into the room beyond.
1t was very small room she found
when she had gotten in, and the only
door that led from it was locked. The
books on the shelves were old and rusty
looking
They belong to a dead generation"
said Polly.
On the tables were papers, sheet after
sheet of manuscript, pencils, pens and
ink. The chair was sitting before the
table as if some one had just been
writing, and upon the hearth were fresh
embers
''My ghost is certainly a sensible
extraordinarily So" said Polly, as
she seated herself in the chair, and be-
gan to look over the papers on the table.
There were many notes and scraps,
meaningless and disjointed, but finally
she came to packet containing quite a
long manuscript, closely written, much
folded and fingered.
1.-The ghost is an author" said Polly,
land his manuscript has been rejected.
Proved unavailable for our columns
Poor fellow! Well, 1 shall read his
story. The plot thickens. Think of
being able to read ghosts story!'
She began to read, turning the leaves
over slowly at first. but gradually her
eyes few over the closely written pages;
&6o dc nd &c, TO-
with an interest that she had seldom
felt.
''If only the woman had not been such
q stick" she said; ''if she had not said
such stiff, silly things, one could feel
that the story was perfect"
She sat moment in deep thought
81 believe / can do it; at all events /
shall try; but not now" She got up,
arranged the papers and chair just as
she had found them, and crept down
through the little door into her own
room.
The next day, Miss Paschall surprised
the fashionable stationer on the corner
by ordering whole ream of 'foolscap."
Richard Blount opened the door of his
bare little study, put down the armful
of wood he was carrying, and knelt
down upon the hearth TO kindle fire.
He was what a casual observer would
call an ugly man, but he had good,
well-knit figure, fine head, and strong
though irregular features
There was a tired, troubled look on
his face, as he sat down to his writing
table and bent his head upon his folded
hands. He was weary in mind and body.
His days had been always days of toll;
his life had been one long struggle.
With the heritage of good name that
had come TO him from his forefathers,
there had come from his father legacy
of debt which he had been striving for
years to pay.
my task is almost DONE" he said to
himself eff / could only get my story
accepted! If l only knew how to make
it goi / feel sure there are good things