Vernon County censor. [volume] (Viroqua, Wis.) 1865-1955, 1921-04-20
The
Haunted Orchard
By LUELLA STEWART
's-ss-s-s-s-''-s.-s-s
l9 1921. by Mcclure Newspaper syndicat.

the dusty, unpainted floor of the Val
ley House lobby. He had been the
only passenger on the rickety old bus,
which he could already hear rafting
away into the darkness. This was the
first time in five years that he had
made" Green valley-snd he would
not have chosen to return.
Hi, JEFF" called the ancient pro-
prietor, uncoiling himself from his
tilted back chair hy the stove take
them valisest' He hobbIed rheu-
matically TO the desk. peering over
his irOn-rimmed spectacles at the lone
guest, while JEFF, gawky country boy
of seventeen with arms and legs too
long for the garments that sought to
clothe them, shambled forward and
gathered the baggage.
"H'm-stranger in these parts be
yer queried the keeper of the Valley
House, shifting his chew of tobacco
expertly, and studying the bold sig
nature on the register: -. NJ. Clay
ton. Chicago"
Not exactly" said Clayton, leaning
idly against the desk He was de
pressed, very tired-almost too tired
to follow the tow-headed JEFF up the
stairs. II used TO cover this territory
until ABOUT five years ago. Always
put up al the Valley House then.
Last few years, I've been routed
through the South. / don't seem 70
remember you-?"
No guess not said the other. rub
bling his shirt-sleeged arm with a
gnarled brown hand. "Bagsbys my
name. Bill Townsend, him that used
to run this place-he left nothin' but
a passed. o debts when he died, cou.
pie o years ago. Ben' principal
creditor, | bought in the place on easy
terms. What'd you say your line
wasi"
Hardware" admitted Clayton
Everything from plows to thumb
tackst"
Him." said Bagsby pessimisticaIly,
hobbling back to his chair by the
stove. Guess you won't sell much Of
either here Green Valleys gone
down terrible. All the young folks
nowadays seem to be just bound and
determined to get to the city; an the
old folks can't make ends meet here
nQhow, what with hired hands askin
such wages. They amt farm around
here that you couldn't pick up now
for song"
A moment later, with his foot act
ually on the ramshackle stairway
Clayton paused. After all. he must
ask the question that had been fore
most in his mind ever since the dusty.
rafting old day-coach had creaked to
u standstll at Green Valley station.
"Do you happen to know" He
thought his voice sounded husky ana
strange, and flushing. he began again:
Can You tell me-anything about--er
IA family named Deming-that used
TO live a couple of miles down the
state road?"
"Deming? Deming?" Bagsby laid
down his weekly farm paper. "Why
that's the Deming place, up where
the big sign is--th-the one they cali
th-the haunted house"
"Haunted?"
"Yeh." said old Bagsby, 1--WE heard
tell that the family--Deming. If that
was their name-mOved out West
count o. their girl havin' lung trou.
BILE; then they say she an the mother
both died, an the old man didn't want
to come back. Places been for sale
ever since | come to Green Valley
an that's four years ago"
Jack Clayton gripped the banlsters
until his kunckles whitened. Media
was dead then He would never
see her again
With his clean-eut young face grim
and set, he followed jeff up to the
room assigned hm-and then, when
the door was shut. fell face downward
upon the springless old heG--and lay
very STILL
Perhaps an hour later Jack Clay.
ton tptoed down the creaking stairs,
without waking his ancient host, who
had fallen into noisy sIumber beside
the dying fire. with his farm journal
falling from one lax hand. The No
vember air cooled his hot cheeks and
smartng eyes, as he hurried down the
state road. Almost before he knew
Ii, ne was at the Demlng farm, Yes,
there it was-the white house with
its spreading barns and outbuildngs
the spacious home where he had 50
often been entertained! How dreary
II looked now; dark, deserted and
close-shultered. No wonder 1t was
called 1.-The haunted house. he
thought; it looked ghostly enough
The front gate was swinging idly
IN the wind. He remembered how he
had first met Media, at that very gate,
when, driving from. farm to farm in
his hired trap. taking orders for rakes,
hoes. harrows and what not, he had
stopped enc day to beg a drink of