The Little River news., 1922-11-04
The House of Dreams
By ERNEST LEVINE

put tnlS IS pretenSe-lt takes US name from the MayflOwer No one would guess at it's age from the neat rows of ciapboard houses on either side of the long street, unless one took a in its maple grove
 A very old house, which has be- longed to the Clay family from time immemorial. A mysterious house, for 30 years at least, since old MT. Clay, the author of profound, queer books became q recluse there. Mysterious even to the tradesmen's boys, who knock at the back door and, eliciting no response, leave their parcels there.
 The old, deaf housekeeper hardly counted. She, too, was recluse. Cos sip rose and fell In Maytown about the Manor House. What was happening inside It? Who were the visitors who sometimes went there?
 Maytown Is purtanical, prohibition ist, of course, godly and possessed of a burning hatred for beauty Beauty and immortality are the two deadly sins. Immortality in Maytown? Hush
 Maytown hated the Manor House with q fury that was becoming mad ness. It hated it for it's age, because of the spacious roOmS-pOOr. cramped minds that dwelled In little, ornate parlors with twisted furniture, and tiny halls. It hated it because it stood for something which had once been the heritage of all men, certain freedom, a nobility of life.
 It hated old Mir. Clay, who could he seen very rarely seated in his chair upon his porch, among the naples. An old man with white beard, who wrote queer books about beauty. Novels? Well, sort of novel, but nobody could understand them.
 But-who were the night visitors at the Manor House? Who were the vis- itoTS that some people declared they had seen leaving, very early in the morning? Women Young women 1. An, old MT. Clay might not be all that he pretended to be!
 It was curious, the sort of people who told these tales. There was the child Henry, for instance a sensitive, dreamy boy, who declared that he had heard music late one night, and seen the windows brilliantly lit up. and a crowd of women in fancy dresses, and a very tall man with the collars grand father wore when he sat for his portrait.
 And there was old blind Matty, who declared that she had a feeling that there were more people living ill the Manor House than any one suspected.
 They hinted at things to the deaf old housekeeper, but it was impossible to make her understand. She was stone deaf, almost. Nothing to be got out of her.
 But more and more the feeling rose against the Manor House There was a revival on in Maytown. There was a general feeling that the happenings in the Manor House ought to be stopped. Especially after the beauti- ful young lady in a sort of crinolne rode away on a white horse at four o'clock in the morning.
 Ben Willett vouched for this. He had heard the horse passing his fathers house, and had crept out of bed and run to the window. She had pale face, and looked so proud, as if all MaytOwn were dirt beneath her feet.
 Something had to be done. Deacon Briggs and Deacon Brossett agreed. The place ought to be raided These happenings were almost nightly oc- currence. Especially on Saturday nights. A little party agreed with them. The Manor House was men, ace to the health and morals of the community.
 A dozen men and women gathered to concert a plan. Mrs. Sillett and Miss Wimp, the oldest spinster, agreed that the end justified the means.
 "Oh, it's scandal, 70 Miss Wimp de- clared. Those hussies who go there ought to be tucked in the pond"
 At midnight the raiders started. Among them was old blind Matty. She Hd4u SIc Aliu tIIdI leetlUP l0dC 1npfe were people in the Manor House She had heard a girl laugh from one of the windows as she went past that afternoon.
 Crash! Smash The back door was down. The party rushed into the place, along the hall, upstairs. It was curious that the Manor House really appeared deserted. No! There was an electric light burning in the big room on the second floor-the drawing room as it had once been.
 Old Mr. Clay sat there at d desk, his pen in his hand, his white beard stirring at the little breeze that came in through the window. There was no one else in the room, and it was thick with dust.
 Deacon Brossett went up and shook him by the arm. Old MT. Clay made no response except to lean heavily toward him.
 Old MT. Clay was dead. He had died writing, half an hour earlier.
 There was a panic. The raiders dis