THE HAUNTED HOUSE
"Hello!" Nellie Yarrow greeted Brother and Sister. "What do you think?"
"What?" asked Sister, apparently unable to think.
Nellie Yarrow pointed her finger as one having important news to tell.
"The haunted house is rented!" she said, excitedly.
The "haunted" house was an object of curiosity to every child in
Ridgeway. It was a small, shabby brown shingled dwelling on one of the
side streets, and it was whispered that a man had once seen a "ghost"
sitting at one of the windows. That was enough. Ever after no boy or
girl would go past the house at night, if it were possible to avoid it,
and the more timid ran by it even in the day time. Of course they
should have known there are no such things as "ghosts," but some of
them didn't.
"Who is going to live in it?" asked Sister curiously. "Don't you
suppose they will be afraid?"
"Well, I wouldn't live in it," declared Nellie positively. "Some folks
don't care anything about ghosts, though. Let's go down and watch 'em
carry in the furniture."
Not many new families moved into Ridgeway during the year, and a June
moving was something of an event. The children found a little group of
folk watching the green van backed up to the gate. Two colored men were
carrying in furniture, and an old lady with her head tied up in a towel
was sweeping off the narrow front porch.
"Gee, she's got a parrot!" cried a ragged, redheaded little boy who was
trying to walk on top of the sharp pickets.
He was barefooted and the pickets were very sharp, so when the
moving--van man, having put down the parrot and its cage on the porch,
pretended to run straight toward him, the boy lost his balance and
fell. He was up in a moment and running down the street as fast as
though the furniture man were really chasing him.
"Sister!" Brother spoke excitedly. "That's the little boy I told you
about. We saw him downtown, Louise and I, when we were buying things
for the fishpond for my birthday; remember? Only he didn't have a rag
on his foot today."
"He used to be in my class at school," said Nellie. "Oh, look at all
the boxes of books!"
Brother meant to ask Nellie what the redheaded boy's name was, but she
had danced out to the van to see how large it was inside, and when she
came back Brother had forgotten his question.
"My father says an old lady is going to live here," volunteered Francis
Rider, a freckle-faced lad of ten or twelve. "She lives all by herself,
and she doesn't like noise. Her name is Miss Putnam."
Neither, they were to learn, did Miss Putnam like company, especially
that of boys and girls.
When the last piece of furniture had been carried in, and the van had
driven creakingly off down the street, the old lady, with her head tied
in the towel, was seen approaching the fence.
"That's Miss Putnam," whispered Francis.
"Get off that fence!" cried Miss Putnam, brandishing her broom. "Get
off! I'm not going to have my fence broken down by a parcel of young
ones. Go on home, I tell you!"
The children scrambled down and scattered like leaves. Francis, when he
was a safe distance up the street, put out his tongue and made a face
at Miss Putnam. The old lady continued to stand by the gate and shake
her broom threateningly as long as there was a child in sight.
"The Collins house is rented at last," said Daddy Morrison at the
supper table that night. "I came through there on my way home from the
station, and there was a light in the kitchen window. I wonder who has
taken it?"
"I know, Daddy," answered Louise quickly. "An aunt of Mrs. Collins has
rented it. She is a Miss Putnam and she makes lovely braided rugs for
the art and craft shops in the city. Sue Loftis told me."
"Well, she's cross as--as anything!" struck in Brother severely. "She
chased us all off her fence this morning; didn't she, Betty?"
"Yes, she did," nodded Sister. "And we weren't doing a thing 'cept
watch her move in. Francis Rider stuck out his tongue at her, and she
called him a 'brat.'"
Daddy Morrison glanced at her sharply.
"Don't let me hear of either of you annoying Miss Putnam in any way,"
he said sternly. "I know how children can sometimes, without meaning
it, bother an elderly and crochety person. Miss Putnam has every right
to keep her house and yard for herself, and if she is 'cross,' as you
call it, that is her affair, too. My advice to you youngsters is to
stay away from the Collins house."
"Now will you be good?" said Ralph, catching Sister by her short skirts
as she attempted to slip past him as he sat in one of the comfortable
porch rockers.
The family had scattered after supper, and only Ralph and Jimmie were
on the front porch.
"The day after a party is always unlucky," observed Jimmie, tweaking
his little sister's hair-ribbon playfully. "You and Brother have had
more than your share of scolding today, haven't you, Sister?"
To his surprise, and Ralph's, Sister's small foot in its patent leather
slipper and white sock struck at him viciously.
"Why, Elizabeth Morrison!" exclaimed Ralph, lifting the little girl to
his lap and holding her firmly there in spite of her struggles. "I'm
astonished at you. What are you kicking Jimmie for?"
"Go way!" cried Sister furiously, as Jimmie tried to see her face. "Go
way--you're a mean, hateful boy!"
"Quit it!" commanded Ralph, giving her a little shake. "Stop acting
like this, Sister, or I'll take you in and put you to bed!"
Sister knew he was quite capable of doing this very thing and she
stopped struggling.
"Jimmie is just as mean!" she sobbed, burying her head in Ralph's coat.
"What have I done?" demanded Jimmie, much surprised.
"You've gone and put a padlock on the barn door!" flashed Sister,
sitting up and drying her eyes.
Jimmie laughed, and Ralph laughed a little too.
"Well, I haven't locked the door for the reason you think," explained
Jimmie kindly. "It isn't just to keep you and Brother out, Sister. I'm
making you something nice, and I don't want you to see it until it is
all finished."
"All right," conceded Sister graciously. "I thought maybe you didn't
want Brother and me to play in the barn."
"No hard feelings, then?" inquired Jimmie, holding out his hand.
And--"No hard feelings," admitted Sister, smiling after the "salt-water
shower."