Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1914-02-04
HheLyndhurst
Affair
The Story of a Sons
Sacrifice
By CLARISSA MACKIE


1t was on a crisp February morning
that the dreadful news ran from lip
to lip until the whole village Of Lynd-
hurst was aroused from its drowsy ex-
istence.
On the outskirts of the village was
the Blatcher place. 1t had been the
show place of the town. The house
stood well back from the street, with
handsome naples and elms surround
ing it 1t had now long been vacant
and was falling to decay. No one ever
entered the grounds except boys, who
are proverbially fond Of deserted
places.
A murder had been committed. Boys
seeking to detach an enormous icicle
that hung from the roof Of the dilapi-
dated house had been Mortified to see
the body of an old man sitting In an
upper room.
And there amt nobody lived in the
house for twenty years." cried Simon
Dale, the postmaster, as he led curl
Gus crowd up the street toward the
house. There amt been soul there
since old Philo Blatcher died and his
son, young Philo. went to Asia or Afri-
ca or some other outlandish place. l
expect young Philo's dead long ago,
but there amt nobody to take interest
enough to find out. not being another
relative. II he is dead l expect the
property II revert to the state"
But what about the old man that
Billy Breen saw through the winderY
insisted Asa Fitch. How'd he come
inside?'
"Mebbe some tramp that's been
housing there. 'Twon't be no mystery
when the constable gets around. Here
he comes now"
The constable was the postmaster's
brother. and so these two by right of
high office in the village took tempo
rary charge of the case.
Constable Ben Dale smashed q win
iowpane and gained entrance to the
big house that bad stood in the midst
of large grounds. untenanted. unvisit-
ed. for twenty years. The trees and
shrubs had been untrimmed and grew
rankly. almost hiding the house from
the street.
When the constable unfastened the
front door 1t was to admit chosen
few. How Miss Alvina Petty managed
to slip inside no one ever knew. But
there she was, the only woman among
half a dozen men, who tramped up the
carpeted stairs. stirring the dust of
years into a choking cloud.
"'Tain't no sight for a woman"
protested Constable Ben as he paused,
with hand on the knob of the front
chamber door.
awful tender with wimmen all of
a sudden" sneered Alvina. Every
body knows it sickens you to kill a
chicken. and you let your wife do 1t,
but she never eats chicken because
she has to kill 'em. l guess l can
stand anything you can, Ben Dale"
Somebody Uttered. and Ben Dale
opened the door and entered the room.
Billy Breen had reported truly.
In one corner Of the dusty room was
a handsome four post bedstead whose
silken covers had been tossed back as
II the bed had been recently slept in.
Beside the empty fireplace was a
large chintz covered chair. and in this
chair was the dead body of a white
haired man. His head dropped to, one
side as If he slept, but there was
rigidity about his attitude that limited
at something else.
One hand hung over the arm of the
chair, and the outside of the hand
was streaked with blood. On the
floor was a little wet spot.
Constable Dale touched his finger to
the spot
BLOOD" he whispered hoarsely;
wet blood! 1t was done last nightT'
A shudder ran through the crowd.
Then the postmaster nudged some
body, and they all turned and looked
at Alvina Petty. who was trembling
the dead man.
II said 1t WANT no place for VIM
men" calculated Ben Dale as he
Strengthened himself.
"Who is it?' whispered Alvina
weirdly. "Who do you say it is. Ben
Dale?'
For the first time the constable look
ed closely at the man in the chair.
Then the color forsook his fresh face,
and he almost reeled.
Good heavens. boys-it's-it's old
Philo Blatcher himselfr
$50 'tisp breathed the postmaster.
But we buried him twenty years
ago! protested somebody.
Then Alvina's voice. curiously re-
pressed to a whisper, caused them all
to turn and stare at the little spin
Bter who once had been known as the
prettiest girl in Lyndhurst. but now.
with her white hair and her pale, wrin-
| killed. face, looked older than her forty
FIVE years.
'aThis isn't old Philo Blatcher," whis-
pered Alvina, still staring at the man.
t. r.